M. Walsh - Author
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m-walshwrites.com
M. Walsh - Author
@m-walshwrites.com
2.6K followers 1.1K following 1.7K posts
Indie author. Creator of GRAYLANDS. Published three books so far. Deal mostly in fantasy and horror fiction. Trying to make a career out of this nonsense. Surviving.

https://m-walshwrites.com
www.books2read.com/m-walshwrites
https://m-walshwrites.itch.io
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No "burgers," but I do have a "sandwich"
“What do we know about Vincent Dune anyway?” he asked. “Gojhi, you say he was in charge of the militia in Seba?” “Aye,” Gojhi said. “We called them the Wraiths due to their black uniforms and gray armor. They were ruthlessly efficient and often brutal. I’m not sure where Dune was born, but I understand he got his start as a mercenary. He made a name for himself defending Aspera during the Third Guo Sekai Invasion around fifteen years ago, which is where he garnered his nickname: the General.” “It’s true,” said Rieko, finishing his sandwich. “To this day, the Sekai tell stories of Dune like he’s the boogeyman.”
November 11, 2025 at 5:37 PM
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“If memory serves, Dalton Mill burned down shortly after I arrived in Devon.” He paused. “I had nothing to do with it, I assure you. There are different stories as to how and why, and they range from the mundane to the downright macabre. But it’s been left to rot and, over time, became a popular hangout for the local kids. They’re not supposed to go in there, but …” “Kids will be kids,” Lock said. “There was an old castle back in Kingsmoor like this. I suppose every place has its own rundown pile of bricks that children claim for their own even when they’re not allowed.” “Did you claim it, Lord Synclaire?” “No,” he said. “My brother did.”
November 10, 2025 at 4:45 PM
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“Okay, I’ll bite,” she said. “For argument’s sake, suppose I am an imposter. Why do you believe that? Why can’t I be the real Katrina Lamont?” He sat back and tapped on his chin as he considered her question. “If Princess Katrina was still alive, she’d be … I don’t know. She’d be running an orphanage or joined with some convent. Or hooked up with a royal in one of the Two Empires.” He let out another chuckle, but actually looked a little sad. “I mean no offense, but I can’t see her wandering Graylands, killing for money.” She snorted, which escalated to giggling. She was not unaware of how people who remembered her legend pictured her. Even in her prime, she knew some of the stories tended to exaggerate. But something about Darrian Royce, the shady gangster of Devon, imagining her as some priestess amused her more than she expected. “Sorry to disillusion you,” she said. “But even if I wasn’t the real Katrina Lamont, she was never going to a convent even on her best day. Besides, from my experience, it’s the people who kill for free you have to worry about. Now, can we get back to Leeroy, please?”
November 9, 2025 at 6:49 PM
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She was about to ask him what his plans were, when she saw land ahead through the mist and fog. “Are we docking already?” she asked. “I thought the voyage would take longer?” “We’re not going north. Not by sea anyway. That’s the west side of the strait ahead.” “Oh,” she said. “I thought that—” “Captain says the northern passage is too dangerous,” he interrupted. “That mess in Seba’s screwed up all the shipping around here, so he’s only taking us across. How do you think I got it so cheap?” She nodded, accepting what he told her with no way of knowing how to question it. Looking at the Tosser’s condition, she supposed a voyage north wasn’t feasible anyway. The ship was a rickety bucket with only two sails and seemed to be held together by its Captain’s willpower and little else. A longer journey in relative comfort was probably preferable to a shorter one on the leaking tub.
November 8, 2025 at 5:17 PM
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📽️ #FilmSky 🎬

#NW Been looking forward to this...
FRANKENSTEIN, directed by Guillermo del Toro
November 8, 2025 at 2:19 AM
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Katrina participated in teleportation only once before in her life. It happened back in Vigor and involved a dangerous mission suspected to be a trap set by Armand Tyrell’s people. One of her companions was a mage of some skill, and he had the spell prepared in case they needed to make a sudden escape. Long story short: they did, and she never wanted to do it again. When she—along with Leeroy, Celeste, and Jeremiah Escudo—teleported to escape SPOILER, the experience was worse than she remembered. They were engulfed in searing light until she saw nothing but blinding glare, and an ear-splitting screech rang in her ears. She didn’t know if it was the same for the others, but Katrina then felt as though she was torn apart bit by bit. Her consciousness remained aware of hurling across time and space. There was a sense of speed and movement, but detached like she watched the whole thing from outside her body. There was also a frightening fragility to it—as if she might be lost in the void and trapped forever in nothingness. She wanted to scream, but no sound would come.
November 7, 2025 at 4:21 PM
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Haven't used "penultimate" in my WIP, so I'm going with "climax" instead:
When Krutch was young, he had a book of short stories. One of them was about a pair of travelers who came across a seemingly deserted village. As night fell, the travelers discovered everyone in the village had been cursed with blood-rage by a warlock. At the climax of the tale, just as the travelers sought to leave, they turned around only to find the villagers had surrounded them. It ended with everyone, including the hapless protagonists, getting torn apart in an orgy of violence and fury. Krutch didn’t know if the story was based on actual events, or simply a cautionary fable about blood-rage. Or maybe it was just fiction meant to thrill and frighten, nothing more? Whatever the author’s intent, it gave him nightmares as the best horror tales are wont to do. He hadn’t thought about that story for some time.
November 6, 2025 at 5:04 PM
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“Wait. You’re not Nico?” The man let out a mocking cackle. “Nico ain’t here, you ass!” he barked. “Name’s Moss. But don’t you worry. Once Zoe gets word out, you better believe he’s gonna wanna meet you, pretty boy. Oh, yeah. And when he does, Nico’s gonna—” Lock didn’t bother to hear the rest. Whatever satisfaction he gained from the battle and victory faded in an instant. He cut Moss’s head from his shoulders with a swift swing of his sword and felt cold emptiness inside as the dead bandit’s head bounced and slid across the icy surface, leaving a trail of blood. There was a time when swordplay was just a hobby to Lock. There was also a time when the idea of killing in combat made him feel ill. It took less than a year in Graylands to stamp that out of him.
November 5, 2025 at 4:40 PM
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People of BlueSky! Let's get to know each other better! What is your all-time favorite TV show?
November 5, 2025 at 1:52 AM
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Drop something YELLOW 💛
Scorpion, the yellow and black ninja from MORTAL KOMBAT
November 4, 2025 at 9:21 PM
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What she didn’t realize, until too late, was that Jessalyn wasn’t accusing her. She was trying to warn her of the actual culprit sneaking up behind her. Cold steel slid into the center of Lily’s back. Her body arched and shoulders went to her ears. The blade clipped her spine, sending a sharp bolt of pain through her and making her legs tingle. It was a good strike. Precise. If the wound itself didn’t kill her, it should paralyze her. He even twisted the knife, the bastard.
November 4, 2025 at 3:55 PM
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“Disgraceful. But at any rate: this is indeed the real Krutch Leeroy, and trust me, he’s a slippery little bastard. He almost got away from me with this damnable thing.” He passed the pistol to Brayker, who inspected it with an impressed expression. Krutch rolled his eyes, wondering if Escudo understood how close that almost was. In truth, had he been so inclined, he could’ve easily shot the Mage dead and walked away a free man. He didn’t have many genuine talents, but he’d grown quite adept at using the gun he’d named Arkady. Had Escudo been just another mercenary or would-be rival, he wouldn’t have hesitated. But he didn’t like the idea of killing a legitimate peacekeeper and shot only to distract. What I get for being a nice guy. “This is his infamous ‘magic weapon,’ eh? The thing that can summon thunder and shoot fire?” “Hardly anything magic about it,” Escudo said, taking the gun back and stuffing it in his inside pocket. “Loathsome machines, and should absolutely not be left in the hands of scum like him. Once Leeroy is taken care of, I intend to bring it to the Guardians.”
November 3, 2025 at 3:23 PM
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▪️THE GHOST PRINCESS▪️
⚔️ fantasy adventure
✖️ multi-POV
💔 failed chosen one
🏴‍☠️ unwilling outlaw
🔪 serial killer
💀 immortal juggernaut
🌲 haunted forest
☄️ misleading prophecy
😈 demons & monsters

LINKS: www.books2read.com/ghostprincess
also: m-walshwrites.itch.io/the-ghost-pr...

#BookSky 📚💙 #ReadSky
Banner for M. Walsh's fantasy novel "The Ghost Princess" with the tagline, "Sometimes... destiny isn't all it's cracked up to be..." Also shows cover blurb: "Graylands is where people go when they don’t want to be found. A neutral, mostly frontier country between two opposing empires, it is a haven for drifters, pilgrims, outlaws, and everything in between hoping to build a new life, find adventure, or just disappear. "Katrina Lamont is one such individual. "Once upon a time, she was the Chosen One—a warrior charged with a great and heroic destiny. But when she finished her journey, there was no happy ending waiting for her. Now she lives as an embittered, alcoholic drifter, haunted by the ghosts of her past. "But when an evil sorcerer, Jacob Daredin, seeks to fulfill an ancient prophecy that may grant him god-like power, Katrina will have to take up the sword once again as she finds herself caught in a race to find the young woman whose sacrifice is the key to Daredin’s mad dream. "Along the way, she will contend with Krutch Leeroy—an infamous outlaw who is not all he seems—and cross paths with Lily Blackthorn—a perky, but mysterious woman with a dark secret of her own. "As Daredin’s forces close in, they will traverse a haunted landscape of pirates, demons, killers, con-men, an immortal juggernaut, and worse in an adventure where the line between destiny and plain bad luck is razor thin." The book cover and background image depicts a black tower on the edge of a cliff by a dark sea and stormy skies with a red horizon. Art by Anthony Jensen
November 3, 2025 at 1:26 AM
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I'm sorry, but this...equating Batman having a yellow oval on his costume with a critical component of Wonder Woman's origin and backstory and all the sub-text and meaning it behind it...is a profoundly stupid thing to say.

Some men should just not be allowed near Wonder Woman.
Tweet or Threads post (I don't fuckin' know) from James Gunn where he praises a Youtube video about the Superman villain Brainiac. In it, he specifically comments on fans' tendency to believe one version of their favorite characters are the "true" version based on nostalgia, using the yellow oval on Batman's costume, Superman's exact power level, and WONDER WOMAN'S ORIGIN STORY as examples.
November 2, 2025 at 7:47 PM
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She wouldn’t chance returning to town, but she was familiar enough with the area to know about the ill-fated artist and his cabin. The abandoned foundation was of no use, but the neighboring boathouse still stood. It smelled of dust and old wood, and the sliding door nearly shattered when she opened it. Inside was a dilapidated boat cocooned in webs—spider and cob—and a toppled shelf of tools spilled onto the floor. But the roof remained intact and the lone, filth-encrusted window was unbroken, leaving the shed dry. She got a small fire going as twilight drained the color from the woods. A yellow moon rose above the frozen lake, and it looked to be another cold night. But there was no breeze, and the stars twinkled in the clear sky. Lily sat against the boathouse’s door and munched on some berries she’d found earlier. Although her kind didn’t survive on actual food, it felt good to have something solid in her belly. Meat was preferable, but she didn’t have the energy to hunt and, since she didn’t really need to eat, she would’ve felt guilty killing and cooking an animal for nothing.
November 2, 2025 at 4:54 PM
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“I should probably mention,” he said. “I wasn’t raised to believe in the Fallen Gods. I’m not sure what the Clergy would want with me.” “We’ll see,” she replied. “I understand you are of the Vigorian Synclaires? Noble blood, yes?” “My father was a cousin of the Lamont Royal Family.” “So you are Vigorian?” “Yes.” “There was a time when the Synclaires held the throne, yes? As I understand, for the past two centuries at least, if it wasn’t a Lamont, it would be a Synclaire.” “I believe so,” he said. “We didn’t … um … from what I was taught, it was felt the royal line should be linked by blood, but without … er …” “Inbreeding,” she said. “Yes, history tells us of the Kinkaid Rebellion. Your ancestors were wise to avoid that road. But you are of that line? As you said, your father was cousin to the last Lamont King?”
November 1, 2025 at 4:08 PM
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📽️ #FilmSky 🎬

#NW Double-feature tonight.
After going through the Universal monsters this month, I'm wrapping up Halloween with an appropriate mash-up.
And after that, a fitting holiday watch.
THE MONSTER SQUAD, directed by Fred Dekker HALLOWEEN, directed by John Carpenter
November 1, 2025 at 1:17 AM
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Sighing, she leaned forward and washed the blood from her hand. Trembling, and despite the cold, she then splashed some onto her face and hair. She supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later. Even aside from her unfortunate habit of giving out her real name and trying to make friends, she also had an unhealthy tendency to stick her neck out against all common sense and survival instinct. “Why do I keep doing this?” she grumbled to herself. “What’s wrong with me?” There were so many people in the world that lived with what they were. They went about their day, thinking only of themselves, and existed without a care beyond their own needs. There were even some that enjoyed being monsters. She’d fed on plenty. Wouldn’t it be so much easier to just be in silence, feed in secret, and care only for herself?
October 31, 2025 at 3:41 PM
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He always found it amusing the inns and taverns of the Realm requested people write down their names when they got a room. Especially in Graylands, where the Sentry Elite were spread relatively thin and the average militia didn’t pay much attention to that sort of thing. It wasn’t like having a name on record could stop someone from robbing them. They could just use an alias. As if reading his thoughts, she said, “You do know they don’t track you by name, right?” “What?” “If the Sentry Elite or Guardian Mages are tracking you and checking the inns, they’re not looking for a name. They look for the handwriting. Make up any name you want, it won’t matter if you write it the same way. That’s what they look for.” He stared at her, feeling as if she’d just flipped him upside down. “Are you joking right now?” “Most people don’t know that,” she said. “But the Mages have a spell that can match a person’s handwriting. They taught it to the Sentries. Some of the cleverer bounty hunters figured it out. When I was a kid, I was taught five or six different ways to write a name so Tyrell and his hunters couldn’t track me.”
October 30, 2025 at 3:48 PM
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Post something random or you’ll have an awful November
October 29, 2025 at 8:47 PM
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Actual broomsticks aren't mentioned, but there is some sweeping done:
She almost suggested the town might not even be aware of the danger, when they came across what was left of an inn. The whole left side was charred black, with many windows broken and the smell of burnt wood still potent. Soulless or no, it seemed Bijou had recently seen some misfortune. “Oh, yeah,” Leeroy muttered. “That’s encouraging.” In spite of the damage, the citizens carried on as normal. A pair of older women stood outside, sweeping the broken glass away, while a youth was at work boarding the windows. Like everyone else, they paid no mind to Katrina and her companions—at most, offering only light smiles. If Bijou had been threatened or taken over by a hostile force, they did a better job at hiding their misery than the people of Hazel.
October 29, 2025 at 3:27 PM
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No costumes, so I went with disguise instead:
“A disguise won’t work.” It was another cold night in Devon. But the skies were clear, allowing a pleasant view. Jameson Rieko sometimes thought, if he’d chosen a different path, he would’ve studied the stars. Astronomy, he’d heard it called. There were people who dedicated their lives to unraveling the mysteries above. He knew his share of myths, but apparently the truth was even more mind-boggling. Listening to Synclaire’s crazy plan to free Devon made him wish he’d reconsidered that career choice. “I keep telling you,” Creed said. “We already considered that. We can forge a Wraith uniform. We can steal actual uniforms. Hell, I still have Bors’s stashed away. But the Wraiths are heavily regimented. They have codes and ID numbers. They cannot be infiltrated.” “I understand that,” Lock replied. “But I’m not asking you to infiltrate them.”
October 28, 2025 at 3:37 PM
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Drop some SMILES
October 28, 2025 at 1:07 AM
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“Oh, no …” Darkness like living ink erupted from the ground outside Celest. It swelled in the air with a wretched shriek and formed an inhuman shape above the clashing armies. It billowed there, resembling a stain on the sky, and let rip a bloodcurdling roar that could freeze water and wilt flowers. Within that blackness, Lily saw glowing yellow eyes glare down upon the world with hate and malice. The Elder Demon had revealed itself, and she heard its voice in her head: Behold, Lilith Blackthorn, what our kind brings. Then the slaughter commenced.
October 27, 2025 at 3:46 PM
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He pondered the source of the smell and suspected, being an interrogation room, it was owed to prisoners left to sweat under questioning over time. Though he saw no torture devices, he was not so naïve as to believe the Sentry Elite were above beating whomever they saw fit. He glanced at the floor and wondered if the darkened stains were dirt and grime or spilled blood long dry. Choosing to steer his mind away from such cheery thoughts, he fiddled with the winter hat he’d purchased earlier that month. He wasn’t sure what animal it was made from, but it was essentially a box of fur that added an extra six inches to his height. It was probably not ideal for keeping a low profile, but he’d be damned it didn’t help keep him warm. With his wrists bound, he couldn’t take off his coat, but there’d be no sense in it if he was going to get thrown in a jail cell. The stockade of Lake Just was unlikely to be warm.
October 26, 2025 at 3:27 PM