S.N. Evans
Bio
Christian, Writer of Fiction and Fantasy; human. I have been turning Caffeine into Words since 2007. If you enjoy my work, please consider liking, following, reposting on Social Media, or tipping. <3
God Bless!
Stories (78)
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My Health Journey with God
I make no show of hiding my faith in God or my weight. I am over thirty and weigh over ten times that number. I am living with several chronic illness diagnoses, including Hashimoto's Disease, Fibromyalgia, Depression, Anxiety, and possible PCOS (as of November 2022.) Due to several circumstances outside my control, maintaining weight has been difficult, let alone losing it. Because of the increased weight and Fibromyalgia, I am in near-constant pain. Some days I can barely walk, let alone adhere to a daily exercise routine. Yet, I am not here to garner sympathy, far from it. Instead, I want to use this article to do the one thing I was created to do, praise my God.
By S.N. Evans3 years ago in Longevity
What I've Learned
I did not pursue creative writing consistently in college. As a result, I barely have half a notebook of writing from that season of my life—all creativity hammered out of me by exhaustion and study rigor. At some point, I felt I had lost something previously obsessively inexorable from my identity— creative writing. So when ideas seemed to gush forth from me as a teenager like an ever-flowing fountain, I put writing before all else. I ignored subjects that did not interest me in high school. Instead, I sat in the back of the classroom with my notebook and pen and wrote— to the chagrin of my parents and teachers, and failed high school algebra.
By S.N. Evans3 years ago in Journal
The Glōm
He stood at the edge of the forest, near the edge of Barrow. His dark eyes and curly dark hair gave his ageless face a cherubic sweetness. As he leaned against a tree, a woman crossed his path. A fairy in white silk with glimmering pink wings and large doe-like eyes. She sat on a stump nearby at twilight, weeping into a bouquet of flowers.
By S.N. Evans3 years ago in Fiction
Night Market
Sylli Lane wove her way between patrons, balancing her dinner on a tray. Her long curly hair concealed her pointed ears, and a stone-gray cloak hid her wings. Sylli Lane was a fae, a type of creature from Lolandil, another of its errant residents trying to find a way home.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Fiction
Hellhound Radio
"Of course," John grunted as his truck stopped short of the swollen creek. But, of course, it was too dangerous to cross. The torrential rain the past few days had bloated the usually lazy creekbed into a muddy churning monstrosity. The water would tear his small truck downstream.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Fiction
Sleep Paralysis
The dim light of the night washes the room gray; deep shadows twist and pool in the corners of the room—silhouettes of toys and furniture cast ghoulish shadows upon the papered walls. Your wide eyes rove the room, seeking whatever woke you. The house is silent, except for the fevered thump of your heart. Nothing appears out of place; the closet is closed, and your bedroom door stands slightly ajar allowing in the comforting glow of yellow light.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Horror
Blood, Sweat, and Tears
Four-Thirty in the morning, my father rolls out of bed, fixes his lunch, has a quick coffee, and drives the thirty minutes to the nearest city. This has been his routine for as long as I can remember. He works hard for a pontoon boat factory, every job from constructor to painter and foreman. Through recessions and the company changed hands and layoffs. My father has been the backbone of the factory. Even a bummed right knee, injured before I can remember, would not stop him. He worked overtime through pain and exhaustion.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Families
My Backstory
Devourer of books, that was my title. I read every book which interested me in our small-town public library. From third grade onward, I read everything from classic novels to fantasy and anything in between. Finally, when I felt I had read every book I wanted to read, I decided to write one myself. It was 2005, while I was in High School, and I wrote just as voraciously as I read. Much to the chagrin of my poor mother.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Confessions
Melancholy, Wistful, and Nostalgic
I have fond summer memories of being outside when I was a kid. My brother and I spent most of our time wandering the quarter-mile stretch between our home and our grandmother’s. We devoured pilfered cherry tomatoes from her garden, sweet, unwashed, and still warm from the sun. We discovered wild garlic and onions and tasted their stalks.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Feast
Inhuman:
Skirting the city, Aftryn Colm, lithe as a cat, darted from tree to tree. Just beyond Valena was their ancestral home of Lolandil, the source of magic. His sharp elvish eyes scanned the treeline for danger. He might have easily bypassed the city of Valena if he had come alone, but his sister Ellyn trailed behind him, clumsy as a spring foal.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Fiction
The Last Wanderer
“There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but you can always find one if you know where to look,” Even after years, Matilda Crooke could hear her grandfather’s coarse voice and smell his pipe tobacco. Her eyes prickled as she thought of him, it had been years, yet his loss still ached within her. He had been the best storyteller in Midvale and Matilda’s best friend. Things had seemed so simple back then; life glimpsed through the eyes of the child.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Fiction
