Tom
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bytomb.bsky.social
Tom
@bytomb.bsky.social
210 followers 120 following 180 posts
Writing a book about a criminal on a deep space mission in the belly of a whale.
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bytomb.bsky.social
One of the last living ships, the Revolution strives to be reunited with her long lost sister. But when her crew launches a war to capture her counterpart, the Revolution's fate falls into the hands of a clumsy little girl. Discover their journey. Dive into Redworld.

#W #SF #SFFH #A #UW #P2Ppit
Image shows a book cover splash image for a book in the style of an inverted sumi-e painting. A red stroke indicates the planet, Redworld, on a black background as the Revolution, a screw-shaped ship, dives toward it. In pursuit are a small legion of fighter ships, attacking the Revolution in the distance. The battle is expressed in simple white strokes and at the bottom the image reads "REDWORLD" in white.
January 17, 2025 at 3:57 PM
bytomb.bsky.social
Enter Redworld, the reckless quest of a criminal on a mission through deep space inside a living ship. Britomare Jones, the infamous revolutionary, discovers life on an impossible planet. Can he protect the innocent inhabitants without sacrificing his family and save his new home?

#wippit #sf #h #a
Digital illustration sketch of a living space ship in the depth of space attempting to consume a small fighter. There is a red planet to the lower right with a ring of meteors and a purplish moon orbiting it. Behind the space whale is a sun in the distance and a light ring of ice surrounding the system.
December 14, 2024 at 11:02 PM
bytomb.bsky.social
tags: #writing #short #story #dream #dealing #with #loss #death #grief
Image of Text as follows: I pace compulsively. I miss you. My husband took the car. I couldn't reach you myself, so I begged you to drive to me. That was at 4, it's 7:15 now. I walk through the hallway between the kitchen and the foyer. Back and forth. The dog looks up at me, panting. She stands and hiccups, then hurls bile on the floor in front of the door. I groan and grab some paper towels. She always gets sick when I'm stressed. I spend too much time cleaning it up and try hard not to get it on my hands. I could clean faster if I set my OCD aside, but I know that you're coming soon and I can't relax. I only hope that you'll get here in time. 7:35 now. A good number. It got on my hands anyway. I gag dryly. I toss the paper towels in the garbage under the sink, wash my hands, then open the fridge and stare for a while. My husband is very good to me. He has left me a lot of food. 5 different meals stare back paralyzing me in indecision. I'm not really hungry. I just want to know the food is there. I snack on a brownie from the cupboard instead and return to my pacing. Image of Text as follows: I see Sarah's tail flip in anticipation. She senses your arrival and I dash to the foyer. We haven't seen you in so long, but your movement, your laugh. It's so familiar. My knees bounce back and forth in a frenzy, but then I freeze when you knock. The dog jumps at the handle. You peek through the blinds and see me, my hands on my cheeks. So you open the door yourself sporting a sheepish grin. “I thought I'd be here faster, but the traffic...” you start. I don't let you finish. I swing my arms around you and squeal like you might disappear any second. Sarah leaps on us both and tries to sneak in between for long awaited snuggles. I breathe you in. Your silky long hair falls down my face in our embrace. You are as you are, not as I remember you. You gained some weight, and so did I. The moment is too short. You were too late. I feel myself slipping. No... I wake hugging a pillow and remember again that you died a year ago.
November 24, 2024 at 3:47 PM