Scott Leminski

@scottleminski.bsky.social

220 Followers 170 Following

I walk a lot. Writer: Creates worlds from words. WIPs - Fantasy: The Oriana Chronicles - SciFi: TPC Files - SFF Shorts: Milieu Ottawa, ON Canada

Three paragraphs from a story. Text follows: “I need a title. Title? Title? Title?” Julian flipped the pages of his manuscript over, left to right and back again, hoping to find inspiration in the pattern of black lines. When none came, he paced the floors, weaving around his sparse furnishing repeating, “Title, title, title.” Then one came to him. “I got it!”
Extract of the first three paragraphs from an electronic letter opened by Solace. Text follows: Greetings Future Me, I expect it is not me, Joseph O’Connor; but, you who are reading this. That is, you are in the enviable position I once held. Your inquisitive nature, and, dare I say, persistence, led to my trifling — The Arboretum Chronology Model, aka ACM. If you happen to be me, then congratulations; you accomplished one of two things, or both. You know what they are. If you are not me then you have the options to: i. Update the ACM to your present, in its current state; ii. Realize the ACM’s potential; or iii. Do nothing. ...
Five paragraphs of text from short story, 'GK 472'. Text follows: Mr. Hammond then took me to a little lounge where he left me alone for ten to fifteen minutes with a coffee and a banana chocolate muffin. When he came back, he asked me a strange thing. He asked, “Are you sure you wish to work for Omnicustodial Services?” Well, I thought, this must be how they like to make the newbies feel empowered. I said, “Sure, definitely,” and, it was then that I officially signed on the dotted line. He initialled my signature like he was witnessisng it, even adding his button number — GK 135 — and formally welcomed me to OCS.
Text from story, Solace, for WIPSnip's prompt Original. How many people would be judging our actions against the original scene? Alec pondered, mindful of their base. He saw his cousin hold the same thought by her hairstyle. Three braids, two on the left, one on the right. Who? The Chief Archivist skipped through an index of characters, epected to know who Solace was presenting. Carla Servo. Science Officer from the CSD Malta. Fourth book. He pulled a scene into the fore, preparing to compare his cousin’s steps to it. Step one. Both counted, with Solace looking at her feet as she sought the cleansing mat, and Alec looking on like a benevolent cleric. Solace ceremonious wiped all but her pure intentions away. Three swipes with each foot front to back, one each, side to side. Step two.
Extracted text from short story: 'Look up'. Text follows. The grids were fixed. Improved. I hear children’s voices, excited as I was back then. “Look up, Dad. Look up.” “Do you know them?” I should close the windows, draw the blinds. “Not in real life. Let’s see if I can remember them without my phone.” “Look up.” “Look up.” The call was repeated over and over like a mantra. A chant of awe spreading among the populace. A mocking call. Urgent. Daring. And there were sobs. “So many. I didn’t know there were so many.”
An excerpt from the short story: 'Chanters'. Four short paragraphs of text follows: A ruby cloaked troop materialized on a nearby hillside, forming ranks on the edge of battle, causing the suspension of fighting. “No!” cried a Silurian officer, throwing off his helm. “Not them. Not here.” Ian pulled back his spear. “I don’t recognize their colours. Who are they?” The soldier opposite, rested his sword atop his shield. “Portents of doom. Chanters. They’re here to chronicle this day in song.”
Text from the story. The first two sentences are in a different typeface indicating they are recorded announcements from the Lydonden's speaker system. Four paragraphs of text follows: Time sublimation matrix fully formed. The time to succeed is yours. “What have I done?” Kerri sat on the bed, cradling her phone to her chest, thinking she had foolish exiled herself. “For what?” Remembering the amount of money she plunked down for this exile, she returned to her desk and opened a textbook. Only after Kerri read the first page four times and the remainder of the chapter thrice through, did she relax sufficiently to begin proper note taking.
An exchange between Dr. Leech and Brenda during her initial meeting at the JI site. Text follows: Dr. Leech leaned forward, laying his hands on the table, his right rolling a small metal rod forward and back. “Dr. Cochrane has provide another theory.” Brenda looked at each face of the others around the table. “And?” Leech’s hand pressed down on the rod. “And we don’t wish to cloud your observations by stating it at this time.” “I see.” Brenda didn’t know if she should be impressedd or afraid, only hoped neither showed on her face.
Several paragraphs from the story, 'In the Matter of Choosing'. Text follows: “Hi, Brad,” greeted Mia. “I see you’ve finished your elf costume.” “Hi. Yep. I was up nearly all night.” Brad modelled his elfin garb by turning his torso one way then the other. “You like?” Sonia replied, “It’s so you,” waving her glittering sceptre at him. “Bing.” “Definitely,” added Mia, singing her own, “Bing.” “Who are you two suppose to be?” Sonia began, “Why, shame on you, Bradly. I’m the Princess Mia,” turning her shoulder to him, feigning offended. “And, I’m Princess Sonia,” finished Mia, equally hurt.
Introductory text to short story, 'Fate'. Five paragraphs. Text follows: “Coffee?” Merv Pennelman raised his finger, levitating his mug a palm-width above the table. “Some semblance of it.” He grimaced, causing his mug to rotate, swirling the cream simulant into the darker liquid. “I don’t know about you, but I can only afford the true stuff maybe, I say maybe, once a month. You?” Heffernan, a warder seventeen months senior to Merv, gazed as flakes of vegetation rose to the top of his drink, escaping their mesh containment. “Today. I detect notes of cinnamon and ginger in it.” “Cinnamon.” Merv inhaled involuntarily, recalling the tactile modules in Ancient Scents. His mug drifted ten centimetres from his mouth. “Doesn’t sound like my cup of–” “Tea. I know. Merv, Merv, you should be adventuresome one day and sample the Tea of the Day like I do. Seriously, we spend our time scoping the past, trying to make sense of the beforers.” ...
Four paragraphs from wip, 'Map', where Brenda is first introduced to Dr. Leech. Text follows: Brenda half-rose from her seat to shake hands with who she took as ‘the rest of the team’. “You have already met Norman Sigurdson” [, said Dr. Leech]. Norman gave a two finger salute at the mention of his name. “Do you have any concerns with him being your Safety?” “My Safety? You mean my wingman?” Brenda exchanged a glance at Norman before scanning the other faces around the table. “No. I trust JI selected an appropriate dig partner for me.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Norman remarked, drawing a muttering of chuckles.
A paragraph from short story wip, 'Shell Time'. Text follows. Kit sat in the lumpy, floral armchair she occupied since her parents dragged her to some dead relative’s house, ruining a perfectly good Saturday. With her feet dangling over an armrest, she thumbed through posts on her phone, thinking over and over again, how much she was missing being with her parents rather than her friends at the mall. She could only participate in the fun by like-clicking and adding the odd ‘lol’ or emoji; but there was only so much she could do. She got up in a huff and stalked off to the second floor bathroom, stopping only to make the sixth stair creak three times.
First two paragraphs of story, 'Change'. Text follows Abigail O’Malley, age thirty-one, the middle of three daughters, grew up in the suburbs of a mid-sized city in a typical unremarkable manner. She attended university, and on graduating, found employment as a draftsperson at Bertrand’s Engineeering in a larger city. The pay was sufficient for Abigail to rent an apartment — albeit, a small one — downtown, and allowed her to put some aside for an eventual house, and an annual week-away vacation.