Welcome to my home(page). Please leave a comment¬†while you’re here and say hello, I’d love to hear from you.

I’m E. M. Sole, a fantasy and horror short story writer. To read one of my stories go to “story” in the menu. To find more stories go to “where to find my stories . ”



Twenty one tales of wonder and horror

A short story anthology by E. M. Sole.

now available at lulu.com

Support independent publishing: Buy this book on Lulu.



A seed of an idea,

A sprout bursting with new inspiration,

Growing into a lush wordscape,

Bearing the fruit of a new story.


A story is …

A dance of seduction between writer and reader, a tease, a promise, an alluring smile …

… Will there be a love affair?

… Or a broken heart?

Happy Valentines

White Paper

The writer stares too long at blank white paper and is consumed by it until his world becomes a white infinity and he floats weightless. He does not know where he is, how he got there or, after awhile, who he is.

The writer comes to believe he is god, and the whiteness morphs forming shadowy images, that, over time, in this timeless place, take on the substance of people and things, a mixed up collection of dreams and memories, twisted by associations into the unrecognizable.

As the things crowd in on the writer, he is happy, safe inside them. They block out the whiteness, hiding him from its terrors. At the same time, they grow solid, start to block out the light and form more shadows.

At first, the writer does not see the shadows. He is lost in the joy of being protected from the consuming whiteness. Then he ignores them. After all what is a shadow? It is just a place without light, nothing more. Except in the world of paper, that now has time and can change and grow, the shadows slowly gain substance of their own and new things emerge, born of the shadows of the writers creations.

These are things he did not conceive, does not understand and does not control, things far worse than the whiteness he still hides from.

He is in control, except he isn’t any more. Now even his creations caught in the shadows of their dark sides start to change. They escape the writers grasp, and the writer finds he is lost again, this time in a world of shadows and darkness of his own creation.

“Let there be light,” said the Lord. The first sentence of first story, by the first storyteller, still being written.

On the day you were born, a breath, a whimper, a cry, the first sentence of the story of your life, still being written.

A blank white page, a few words, the first sentence of a new story, still being written.


Fable Stew

Here’s a tasty recipe for your Thanksgiving table,

1 character with room to grow

1 sidekick to help along the way

1 villain to add texture

1/2 cup interesting setting to make the broth rich and creamy

12 oz meaty situation cut into bite size chunks

pepper and salty tears to taste

Sweat characters over low heat (toils and troubles) to intensify flavor.

Stew for a long time until flavors are melded together.

Garnish with an evocative title and a meaningful quote, serve steaming hot and enjoy.

Why write?

To let the bats and skeletons out to play.

To free the bats from their belfry, so they can stretch their wings and fly, to see where they will take you as they head off into the night.

To bring the skeletons out of the closet, dust the cobwebs off and see if it’s time to let go and send them on their way, or to put them back to face another day.

(I hope your bats are friendly and your skeletons aren’t too scary.)


A story is footprints in the sand.

A record that someone was here and left a memory behind.