Literary pieces that I have worked on or have in progress.
This category is for simple enjoyment and not a research project of any type, nor is it associated with any ongoing schooling or training.
Most of my stories will be fictional, and may tend more toward the fantasy rather than the sci-fi
This author does not write unintentionally. My prose is not loose. It is lived in.My phrasing is not messy. It is layered.My rhythm is not accidental. It is measured, and often meant to stumble, pause, or push. If you find a line that feels “off,”a structure that seems to bend convention,or a moment that appears…
Please bear with me as I try to barrel through this submission. I started considering agents today and through my research your name came up. You are listed among the top 5 or 6, if not the top agent for the mythopoeic series I am creating. I began looking into you and found that your…
I have found that the mass produced literature today mimics the auto tune environment in music. I think that AI is going to exacerbate the situation. I have written and edited my own novel and I have made explicit decisions in the way I approached my writing. I have other things I find myself leaning…
The Heater and the Hack is not intended to just tell a story—it invites the reader to dance with it. Situated at the confluence of high fantasy, philosophical speculation, and mythopoetic narrative, this novel seemingly resists categorization in favor of a deliberate complexity. It asks not for passive consumption but begs for active participation. It…
The book lay open on the desk, the cigarette in the ashtray still trailing smoke. The soft murmur of the television barely covered the incessant ticking that filled the room with audible angst. The darkened room filled with a flickering puddle of light from the movie being played. The oasis of light from the desk…
The map of the United States filled the wall above the desk and like most, Hawaii and Alaska are included in the corner to complete the image. At the bottom of the map are scrawled the words, “No real destination.” Sprawled out on the couch, a heavyset old main snores lightly. Occasionally his snoring stops…
Never did we expect such power. We stood awaiting orders that never came. Night after night, day after day, our numbers grew. We were unaware of the ultimate goals, but our count increased as efforts to grow our numbers through seeds planted subtly and the fluttering immersion that flowed nightly through the city. We were…
Rhythmic and regular, the click and swish continue incessantly.Each thread woven in sequence, layering side by side.Slowly the colors emerge, interwoven amidst the threads designed to strengthen.The cut of the fabric is shaped and molded.Every stitch, meticulous; every fold, crucial. The narrative robed in cloth.
I didn’t set out to write a novel. I didn’t name characters with divine purpose or hidden lore. When I first opened the file that would become The Heater and The Hack, I just needed a name that didn’t sound ordinary. I typed “username” backwards—Emanresu—and it looked exotic enough to keep going. But then something…
The canvas set.Every stroke vivid.Every line drawn, nuanced.Painting with deep, resonant colors.The tones shift, the lighting rewrought.Building in layers upon layers, each subject meticulously captured.Standing back, we look again before changing direction.Every subtlety intentional.The canvas complete, the critics arise. In painted prose—a novel.
We landed heavily throughout the city… most of us landed on the ground and slipped into hiding immediately. I was one of the unlucky ones… I hit the roof, and without a purchase to stop me, bounced off of the edge of the highest level to the next, sliding uncontrollably toward the edge—over which was…
Goodreads Book Giveaway The Heater and the Hack by Leslie R. Waggoner III Giveaway ends July 20, 2025. See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter Giveaway
I wanted everyone to understand how unique paths can sometimes lead to unexpected outcomes.My foray into writing began accidentally. Though I had often conceptualized ideas and plots for random stories and books, these were primarily mental exercises without any actual intent to develop them. I had never sat down and put pen to paper or…
We had just left the bowling alley when a distraction by my friend allowed me to slip away from him. Before he could stop me, I was already down the alley and rounding the corner. A strong breeze at my back—a breath of tantalizing freedom. Twice I was able to evade… staying just beyond the…
Death, meet Black Hole…
“They had not gone out together, in… damn… years,” she thought. Humming quietly to herself, “…don’t expect it this time either, girl, but there is always hope. He finally buy me new sensible shoes yesterday, and they fit perfectly. And the black shoes even matched my cute little black top.” They exercised together every day,…
“Excuse me, excuse me. Excuse me!” Aida repeated in ever-louder tones. Protect and deliver were his instructions, and… as Billy was wont to say… “by God, that’s what I will do!” Jetting down the hallway, he skated around various people and automated delivery units. Not as efficient as one might expect, but they do the…
The anticipation of the launch filled the room as everyone waited with bated breath. The tanks of the rocket were full, and the countdown had begun. This damned rickety control station, hastily constructed, rocked to and fro as everyone concerned focused on the impending launch. Somewhere, two solid objects of the control platform were thumping…
The sounds have clicks and ticks and various inflections that I just cannot recreate. Ever since I arrived, the natives… let’s call them benefactors… have been incessantly hovering, though, odd enough, their attention is erratic. My food, normally provided regularly, is sometimes forgotten. This means I have to sidle up to the bars of my…
The light flickered… the landscape, reflected and mirrored, stretches out, filling the expanse. The little pieces are placed—trees and bushes set, and then adjusted perfectly. The intricate details were difficult to manage, but these… miniature, small… diminutive… I am not even sure anymore what to call them. They are detailed and seem perfect for the…
Dressed in leather and gilded in gold bling, the teacher sat on the edge of the desk. Not the usual uptight teacher, her intricate tattoos proudly illustrated a deep, reverent understanding of the importance of knowledge. The concepts presented were of a depth that few could succinctly follow, let alone completely comprehend. Running up her…
Reviewing the painting, I smiled. “No,” Timmy said, looking me square in the eyes. “I would rather you didn’t.” “You seem to be my perfect subject, though.” “Yes, and your first painting came out perfect, did it not?” “I suppose it did.” Timmy reached up and poked at his cheeks and twisted his fingers, exaggerating…
“She’s a cute kid. It is a little awkward, and I’ll just say it’s a little creepy, but she’s still cute.” “Yeah, but… I don’t know,” Dave said. They rewound the tape and watched it a fifth time. The girl danced awkwardly, reflected in the mirror. Her gangly and uncertain movements were adorable. “See? Reflections…
Last night, I could hear them fighting again. Why she lets him control her like that, I will never understand. I push lightly at the door, just to check. It is locked again. Poor girl. She never leaves except when she takes her car for groceries. I had burst in once, but I was no…
The plateau, a mesa of warmth and woven shadow, beckoned to the benefactor and watcher alike, promising sights heretofore unseen in a mystical dance never beheld before, and in dreams never to be viewed again. Forgoing the temptation, the benefactor sat briefly on the edge of the plateau, legs dangling, then slid over and slowly…
Project Overview Series Structure World-Building Expansion and Linguistic Elements Writing Style and Narrative Philosophy 1. Point of View and Narrative Voice 2. Complex, Layered Sentence Structures with Rhythmic Flow 3. Dense Descriptive Passages Balancing Detail with Readability 4. Philosophical Themes Woven into Natural Dialogue 5. Dialogue with Emotional Subtext and Cultural Nuance 6. Subtle Foreshadowing…
A yellow butterfly flutters and lands on the dedication sign for the forest green bench. Mother sits on the bench, handkerchief in hand, wiping the tears from her eyes. For weeks, Mother has been angry at me, ignoring me almost completely. Mother looks over and mutters my name. “Sarah.” I look up, grinning. Maybe she…
“This damn clock—why are they always so difficult when he is around?” The old, haggard clockmaker hunches over a bench. The man in the dark cloak sits in the corner, waiting. The clockmaker struggles with this piece. He must get it working. It is no longer a matter of payment, but one of pride. He…
The intricacies… independent and unique. He sent the order in this morning. The letter next to her only specified: “Something intellectual and creative.” He often let her have the reins with the eggs, long ago realizing she was more than capable. She sighs, but a smile spreads across her face. She loves this… sort of…
The damn birds… the incessant cooing. If Patty could think of a better punishment… she would. She could not forget her little Katie’s laughter from the back seat. Her daughter, so bright and joyful. They had been laughing about something. Try though she did, she could never recall what. The pigeons filled the road ahead,…
Detective Morris glared across the interrogation table. “You said you were where, Friday night?” He said, for the umpteenth time. The smug grin on the perp’s face… matched only by the eerie silence. That face, highlighted in red from the light in the hall, occasionally flickered with someone’s passing. Ugh. Hours. He didn’t recall right…
Out across the sea, the beam of light sweeps, searching… guiding… waiting for someone to see. The rain pelts the windows, hammering in sheets and droves. The storm rages. His coffee… different… a slight hint of salt and iron. He had emptied the last of his bottled water yesterday, so he was using water from…
The fog-laden evening chilled him to the bone as he stood beneath the street lamp. “I am getting too old for this,” he mutters. The juxtaposing hard-soft glow of the lamps created an eerie duality of light on the street. The longshadows dancing in the wind-blown lamplight. The headlights shine on him briefly as the…
The cracked sidewalk led up to the creaky steps of the old Victorian house. He took a deep breath… and began walking up to the porch just above the stairs. With each step, it felt like he was walking in molasses. Slowly, his legs felt heavier the closer he got. At the steps, he struggled…
The young waitress sat at the counter, her tips laid out in front of her as she counted. Old country songs, soft in the background, as she felt around for her glasses. A movement from the corner caught her attention. The last booth. The last customer… creepy. The guy seemed to be staring at her…
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
