Forgotten Gods: The Mirror Cracks
I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Memories started rushing back: bloody battlefields, lovers, family, my children. I wasn’t Aric Newman, writer and Mr. Mom.
I was Ares, God of War.
I felt like I had been punched in the gut. Memories started rushing back: bloody battlefields, lovers, family, my children. I wasn’t Aric Newman, writer and Mr. Mom.
I was Ares, God of War.
The past few days, I had struggled to hit my daily word count. The story seemed elusive, unwilling to come to life. But today, for some reason, I didn’t seem to have that problem. My fingers flew across the keyboard as the battle raged on the screen. Swords clashed, blood spilled, men died. When I finally took a break, I noticed it was late afternoon.