Adam Patrick
Bio
Born and raised in Southeastern Kentucky, I traveled the world in the Air Force until I retired. I now reside in Arkansas with my wife Lyndi, where I flail around on my keyboard and try to craft something interesting to read.
Achievements (1)
Stories (22)
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The Kindling. Runner-Up in Next Great [American] Novel Challenge.
Jacob drew the blue bandana from his back pocket, wiped the sweat from his brow. The air was cool and crisp this late in Autumn, but busting firewood was hard work. He’d forgotten how hard, and he'd been at it for a while.
By Adam Patrick2 years ago in Chapters
On Writing
On Writing isn't a how-to; it's a story. A love story. A life story. Like everyone's life story, it's a genre-bending mix of horror, thriller, romance, comedy, and inspiration. We learn lessons as he did, not through checklists and exercises, but through reflection. Examination. Application.
By Adam Patrick2 years ago in Critique
Port-faux-lium
I am a lifelong learner. I love education, communication, the exchange of ideas and opinions. Discourse. I particularly love online education. A lot of people discount it, and many students do phone it in; but it gives me a chance to digest people’s posts and responses, consider them, and craft an informed, well-formulated response.
By Adam Patrick3 years ago in Education
POP
Isabelle watched her fingers as she waved them through the dust molecules floating in the everlasting light of day. Each left broad waves in its wake as they cut through the sunlight. Coming together, separating. Four. Eight. Sixteen. So many fingers. She looked to her right to see who the additional unexpected fingers belonged to. Someone come to help, perhaps. But there was no one there.
By Adam Patrick3 years ago in Horror
I Didn't Ask To Be Here
“We didn’t ask for this room or this music. But because we are here, let us dance.” - Stephen King (11/22/63) Something isn’t right. It is something I know—I feel—before the words have a chance to take form in my conscious mind. The surface beneath me is hard; it jerks and rattles. I wince at the sound of metal twisting and grinding, threading its way into the folds of my brain. It is the sound of chaos. The sound I would imagine ripping the strings of the universe from the fabric of space and time would make. But there is a rhythm amid the discord. A steady clacking, chugging, churning coalesces, much like the thought that had emerged from the haze moments earlier.
By Adam Patrick3 years ago in Fiction
weMatch
The bell above the door rang, barely audible over the howling wind rushing in past Henry. Henry had the collar of his jacket pulled up high enough to graze his earlobes, only in part because of the cold. He breathed hot air into his hands and wrung them as his eyes searched the mostly empty pub. The bartender may have glanced his way when he came in, but other than that, no one paid him any mind.
By Adam Patrick3 years ago in Fiction
The Third Valley
“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.” “T’weren't always a valley,” Gerald replied. He smirked, looking to Langdon lying prone in the grass at his side for validation. Langdon’s grey eyes continued to survey the flat land below. He was in no mood to get philosophical. He raised an eyebrow and dipped his eyelids. Gerald accepted it as a concession. It was about as much of one as he could expect from Langdon.
By Adam Patrick4 years ago in Fiction
Moving Day
It was late Autumn, and the wind had a harsh, dry bite. Dead leaves skittered across dying grass and into the driveway as I surveyed a poorly maintained lawn, my mind bristling with ideas for improvement. It was moving day. We had arrived hours before the movers were scheduled to get started so we could enjoy the empty space. A bare foundation upon which we’d build our lives. We stood in the empty living room, our arms around each other, separated only by thick layers of winter jackets. Hopes, dreams, opportunity, they all whirled around us, silent and unseen. I constructed a visual living space in my mind that was undoubtedly far different than the one in her head. Dark oak wood, brass, warm yellowed lighting, and worn leather furniture supplemented with plush red accents. No matter what the living space eventually looked like there was only one thing that mattered: that we were in it together.
By Adam Patrick4 years ago in Fiction
Sisyphus and the Afghanistan Withdrawal
According to Greek mythology, Zeus punished Sisyphus, King of Corinth, by condemning him to an eternity of rolling a heavy boulder up a hill. Each time he reached the top of the hill, the boulder would roll back to the bottom, and Sisyphus would have to repeat his struggle.
By Adam Patrick4 years ago in Serve
