Nicholas Rinth's Blog

Random slice of life scene. Takes place after book 4.

Thud.

Jack looked across his office where, in front of the unlit hearth, his toddlers dropped several tomes almost half their sizes on the floor. One of the books toppled a tower constructed from wooden blocks that rolled all across the carpet. Silvus grimaced at the mess in a way that reminded him too much of himself, before glaring at the book as if it were to blame for being so heavy.

Off to the side, a messenger who had arriv...

Last month, I finished the final requirements for my PhD. After years of stress, I can officially say: It’s done. Over. Finito. The end of the PhD is in sight. All that’s left is to walk across the stage this December and not trip.

I’ve also settled nicely into my new apartment, and I’m working on transitioning into full-time employment with my company. Many parts of my life are moving, while others remain hopelessly still. I swing back-and-forth between being happy and sad about that. But on...

You can count on me to keep on walking.

It was a lonely hour, the inn quiet and still, bound up in that heavy silence which only comes when a single soul sits wakefully among many others. A fog crept against the window, obscuring the storm outside. The light of a nearby candle flickered in some unseen breeze, almost extinguished, then steadied.

That candle is too cheap for a room this expensive, he thought with annoyance, wishing he had a knife to trim a bit of wax from the top to better expose the wick.

Barely morning, and alre...

I have officially entered my last year in my PhD program! There are a lot of things happening — moving to another city, starting a new part-time job, new research projects. I’m a little scared of burning out honestly.

I also have a new book idea on the back burner, but it’s been so long since I’ve written fiction that I feel like it wouldn’t be any good even if I set aside time to write it. I may start by writing random things using my Heartstone characters just to get back into the rhythm ...

How unbearably inane.

He’d found the one thing in the world he refused to harm, even at the cost of his own injury. His own life, perhaps, meager, wretched life that it was. His heart, professionally numb, had opened despite his wishes and curled itself with feline unconcern around a woman with no more instinct for self-preservation than a moth.

And yet, here she was—reckless, fragile, and impossibly stubborn, throwing herself against the world as if she were something unbreakable.

“Ma...

Dear —,

I don’t want to make you suffer through a long sob story, so the short of it is this—the sorrow is not as cutting as it used to be.

The bruises, not so angry that I shudder from an errant press.

-N. Rinth

Oh, it’s embarassing sometimes — when the longing shows.

How I’d just like someone’s hands to grasp mine. A warm voice to welcome me home. Someone to eat a sweet treat with when the sun falls down.

I am so good at being alone, until I remember what it’s like not to be, and suddenly, I can’t help but wish I wasn’t altogether too much just for one night.

Dear —,

How stupidly precious it had all become.

I hate holding onto fragile things. Delicate things were never meant for hands like mine, and in the span of a breath, I watched it all fracture, splintering into jagged edges that cut deep before I even thought to let go.

One step at a time. One after the other. Steady rhythm. Soft taps of rubber on asphalt. Listen to that only, not the silence where another voice used to be.

Keep moving or the horror will eat your heart. Not now. On...

She called his name carefully.

His eyelids flickered, but he gave no other sign of having heard her. She wanted very badly to embrace him, but she thought he was a hairsbreadth from shattering like a smashed vase, and she wasn’t sure she could catch all the shards.

She called his name again. Stronger this time. More commanding.

“Come back.”