Interview with ~BrokenTales

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1.)How long have you been writing?
Four years (ish)

2.)Who has been your biggest literary inspiration/favourite writer?:
Isaac Asimov, for more reasons than I can remember.

3.)Do you have a personal favorite among your own works?:
Heartless Automaton - A Love Story, because it was slightly out of my comfort zone and took several re-writes, but I think it turned out to be one of my better pieces.

4.)What is your favorite thing to write about?:
Something I haven't tried before.

5.)Contrariwise, what do you dislike writing about?:
Myself and my real-life experiences. I read and write to enjoy other worlds - not this one.


                                       

:thumb363166731: Complex 57The slick of black, heady oil rolled across the floor, staining the raw surface of the clinic, and the young boy collapsed back into the examination table. He was pale, even for someone who had never seen sunlight, with milky eyes and black spittle hanging from cracked lips.
"Of those we've seen, the virus has spread most quickly in this patient." Doctor Ripnar was a tall man who tended to sway when he walked, but had hands as deft and precise as any surgeon and he used them now to steady and restrain the boy. "His blood is turning into the same substance you see at your feet." he continued, "We might have been able to keep him alive long enough to find a cure, but we don't have the resources for everyone."
Adjudicator Lawrence nervously straightened his tie; his pink and sweaty face bulbous with stress. "Everyone?" he asked, "How many have been infected?"
"It's in the air supply, Adjudicator. We're all infected."
The Adjudicator lurched, virulent juices churning in his stomach. He hat

Mature Content

Dead NoirSo some dame walks through my door, and I start to do the whole 'of all of the offices in all of New York' thing - because I'm a private eye, and that's how we do things - but then I recognize her: Miss B J Broad, dynamite on legs and owing me a favor or two after the fiasco with her late husband. Only the last time I saw her she wasn't carrying a tommy gun. So she's saying "Larry, darling." as she points this thing at me, and her voice is soft, tender, beautiful. Then it's all fireworks - nothing but noise and flashes of light - and I find myself looking down at my own bullet riddled corpse, tongue hanging out like a sweating dog. Miss Broad's looting me for the lint in my pockets and all I can think is, 'Hey, Larry. How about you at least try and die with a little dignity?'
Miss Broad obviously doesn't find what she's after because she's storming off cursing my name, and I start to feel kind of worthless. Kind of like I'm sorry to disappoint, you know? Like I hope m
Heartless Automaton - A Love StoryCombat Mechanoid 732 of the 3rd Armoured Battalion - though he went by the name Al in casual conversation (something easy for the fleshies to remember). During service he had dragged his ferrosteel body from the flaming wreckage of a particle tank on four separate occasions, once going back in to recover the memory core from a crushed comrade's skull. He dedicated himself to the cause not because of the propaganda or idealism, but because it was his job (and unlike the fleshies he knew how to do his job without whining, or stopping to rest every couple of days). But now the war was over (with both sides claiming victory) and Al was to be sent into civilian life.
The press releases had been careful not to suggest that mechanoids were considered alive in any way (because that might make someone begin to consider things like their rights and privileges), but instead focussed on how they might benefit the human (fleshie) population. They were told that the mechanoids would offer valuable a



                                       

6.)What is your preferred environment when writing?:
A warm coffee shop (with free coffee if I can get away with it).

7.)When is the best time, for you, to write?:
Around 2am, which unfortunately doesn't match up too well with my preferred writing environment.

8.)If you're having one of those cursed 'writer's blocks', or if you're wanting to boost your creativity, is there any process which you go through to do so?:
I take a break and read, or play some video games, or work on a different project. After a day or two I go back to what I was stuck with and read through it again - usually when tidying it up a bit I work out what I want to write next.

9.)Do you write anything other than prose?:
Comic strips from time to time. They're fun to write but pretty dull to read unless I can convince an artist to work on them (which I have done for a couple: [link]

10.)Do you have any other artistic interests?:
Does coffee count?

Grubbles in the Office"Freedom!" came the shrill cry, ringing out across the office floor.
"Oh bugger it," mumbled Thrice, "the grubbles are out again." And the morning had been going so well.
It was always when he was wearing a white shirt as well. Never could the two-inch sods break out and cause havoc on a casual Friday. Oh no, he had to run about in uncomfortable chinos and a shirt that would pick up every stain and cling on to it for dear life.
Thrice stood up and peered over his cubicle wall to survey the battlefield. The office was nearly full today, which meant there wouldn't be many cubicles available for the grubbles to hide in. At least that was something. The first job was to work out who to blame, and he was also in luck here as the unfortunate temp was still standing dumbfounded next to the water cooler.
"Johnson!" called Thrice, "Johnson, you were warned about that water cooler, now grab one of the nerf guns and get over here!"
Thrice liked temps. They existed in a perpetual state of fear, tr
Night Chaser02:37am 22nd July - depart from London by commercial jet, business class.
00:53am 22nd July - arrive in New York an acceptable 7 minutes behind schedule.

Slaying an archangel is hard work. It takes a great deal of study, picking your mark, separating fact from legend, learning your target's tells and vulnerabilities. Even if you succeed, and when I tore Gabriel's crystal heart from his open chest I became one of the precious few who have, there is still the matter of retribution. Angels never forget the death of one of their own, and a legion of these creatures now wait to descend and deliver their vengeance. My only sanctuary is the night. Angels can only exist in light of the sun and as such I owe my continued existence to the wonders of modern technology, which is capable of sending man half way around the globe faster than the approach of the morning sunrise.
I chase the night. Or at least I chase the processed luminance of airports and rail terminals.
I've got an hour and
Lab Coats: Parts I, II, III"Curious creatures are they not? Just kind of stumbling around, aimless, pointless, maybe even worthless," mused the First one.
The Other one did not speak. There was no need to - the First always did enough talking for the both of them - so instead he leaned back and allowed the First to continue.
"I do wonder what Ugly will make of them."
The Ugly one was, aesthetically at least, a box, and nothing more could be said in favour of her physique. But when it came to matters of the mind - Aha! - that was where she shone. She was precise and methodical in her manner, cruel and honest when she spoke, and she was relied upon by the First and Other for these very qualities.
"I mean. I guess they're alive, in a technical sense you understand. It's just that, well, I'm not sure it should count, you know? As a whole, they don't really do much."
The First paused to think, chewing pensively on whatever it was that had found its way into his mouth.
The Other chose not to add anyt

Mature Content

Into HellAdam could feel the old man staring through him, with one milky white eye that screamed a thousand warnings and one vibrant green that promised treasures untold. They both knew that Adam couldn't turn back, not after the long weeks of desperate searching that had alienated his friends and ruined his savings, but the offer was a ritual that the old man was bound to.
"It gets dangerous from here, lad. I'll understand if you've had your fill."
Adam didn't bother to reply, the old man was already opening the gate anyway. He was still a little surprised by how plain it was, but he didn't dare question the old man's guidance - not on these matters, for certainly nothing was quite as it seemed since he left York. Yet here, in an unremarkable English hamlet, to the side of a cottage no more impressive than the last, Adam stood before the gateway to Hell.
"What better place for evil to reside than the tranquil hearth of man?" the old man had chuckled to himself. It sounded like a touch of eloqu



To read more about BrokenTales and his work, go to his deviant page:brokentales.deviantart.com/

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