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Tracy Rae Bowling
PROJECTS
Road to the Fightimal Master
Click to have a fateful encounter with a surly new friend in a cutscene from my game ROAD TO THE FIGHTIMAL MASTER.
Road to the Fightimal Master
Click to meet your rival, Lyle, in a cutscene from my game ROAD TO THE FIGHTIMAL MASTER.
World of Ruin (fiction, dystopian)
Down the mountain, at the end of the cart path, lay Sano's bluefin habitat, and if there was anything he would like right now, it was the sight of his fish—some, at least—still swimming, still puffing their gills in and out.
Crunching along behind him, rustling through the sedge bushes, he heard an echo of the steps he made. The child Rin, imagining herself secret, her wheeze of apprehension, her timid feet.
“Do you like fish?” he called back to Rin. And when Rin’s response was to brandish her limbs like an overturned crab and crash sideways into a scraggly bush in an attempt to hide, he was surprised to hear the new octave of his voice, of laughing.
Crunching along behind him, rustling through the sedge bushes, he heard an echo of the steps he made. The child Rin, imagining herself secret, her wheeze of apprehension, her timid feet.
“Do you like fish?” he called back to Rin. And when Rin’s response was to brandish her limbs like an overturned crab and crash sideways into a scraggly bush in an attempt to hide, he was surprised to hear the new octave of his voice, of laughing.
The Successor (fiction, romance)
The clockmaker delivered a dumpling polite into his mouth, closed his eyes a moment. “This meal is wonderful, Pietro,” he said.
I’m glad if it’s to your liking, I said.
“Of course. I look forward to your dinner. Around six o’clock, or when the sun begins to set, or after I’ve sketched as much as I can picture. Gives me something to anticipate.”
This naturally pleased me to hear. I had, at that time, only just begun to pay any mind to my cooking skills.
“I’d like to make a timepiece that elemental,” he said. “To segment our time as hunger does. Or sleep.”
By satiety, I said. And want.
He laughed.
And said, “No, Pietro, don’t give me your scowl. It is only funny to have someone understand.” His plate was clean.
I’m glad if it’s to your liking, I said.
“Of course. I look forward to your dinner. Around six o’clock, or when the sun begins to set, or after I’ve sketched as much as I can picture. Gives me something to anticipate.”
This naturally pleased me to hear. I had, at that time, only just begun to pay any mind to my cooking skills.
“I’d like to make a timepiece that elemental,” he said. “To segment our time as hunger does. Or sleep.”
By satiety, I said. And want.
He laughed.
And said, “No, Pietro, don’t give me your scowl. It is only funny to have someone understand.” His plate was clean.
Eyes on Me (fiction, young adult)
“I’m ready to go,” he says.
“Well,” I say, swirling the punch in my cup, “I am not.”
“I wanted you to get to dance,” he says. “Now you have.” When I say nothing, he leans in close to me. His angry whisper tickles my ear, makes me shiver all over. Makes me cold—every word.
What he says is this:
“You may think I’m jealous of those other guys, or old-fashioned. I’m just looking out for you. It’s not becoming for a woman to throw herself around that way. It’s not a thing a man likes to see, whether the girl is his or not.”
He has more, but I am gone, away from his awful mouth, away from him.
“Well,” I say, swirling the punch in my cup, “I am not.”
“I wanted you to get to dance,” he says. “Now you have.” When I say nothing, he leans in close to me. His angry whisper tickles my ear, makes me shiver all over. Makes me cold—every word.
What he says is this:
“You may think I’m jealous of those other guys, or old-fashioned. I’m just looking out for you. It’s not becoming for a woman to throw herself around that way. It’s not a thing a man likes to see, whether the girl is his or not.”
He has more, but I am gone, away from his awful mouth, away from him.
The Returners (fiction, suspense)
If his prisonmates had ever had the initiative to escape, the desert must have killed it, the sand in shoes in ears in mouth. Afternoon: They sat lackadaisical, sipping homemade fermentations in the shade, or throwing hand-cut playing cards onto makeshift tables. Bored into becoming model citizens, they read books from a meager library or did useful tasks, like carrying rain barrels to the vegetable plot or building lean-tos to shield the heat-sick from the sun. It was odd to see them cooperate. It was hard to believe they were, all of them, terrible people.
Then again, it was hard for Oscar to believe that he was a terrible person, and he had been there.
Then again, it was hard for Oscar to believe that he was a terrible person, and he had been there.
Forgotten City (fiction, magical realism)
THE DAILY WORD
--Staff
Late Tuesday morning, reports were received describing fallen trees and leveled houses in the unincorporated territory outside Karsa. Accounts from witnesses in neighboring towns suggest an earthquake. Scientists in the capital have been unable to confirm any seismic activity.
In a region poorly populated and with an economy never recovered from the disaster of eighteen years ago, it is suspected that many of the houses affected by the event were already abandoned. It is not known how many people may be displaced. Relief agencies are mobilizing and expect to be in the area in 3 to 5 days. Any citizens remaining in the area are encouraged to relocate to central institutions such as post offices and schools to take shelter and await aid.
--Staff
Late Tuesday morning, reports were received describing fallen trees and leveled houses in the unincorporated territory outside Karsa. Accounts from witnesses in neighboring towns suggest an earthquake. Scientists in the capital have been unable to confirm any seismic activity.
In a region poorly populated and with an economy never recovered from the disaster of eighteen years ago, it is suspected that many of the houses affected by the event were already abandoned. It is not known how many people may be displaced. Relief agencies are mobilizing and expect to be in the area in 3 to 5 days. Any citizens remaining in the area are encouraged to relocate to central institutions such as post offices and schools to take shelter and await aid.
A Writer's Defense of Final Fantasy VIII (essay)
Such details, in small but potent ways, do with images what too many lesser RPGs do with bad dialogue, menu tutorials, and conveniently placed scholars/monks/tour guides. FF8's images imply histories, cultures, and relationships between people and nations that deepen the overall experience rather than instructing the viewer in how this all fits together. The details run over at the edges while making a coherent and recognizable whole, the way a good world does.
Meet Your Rival
Road to the Fightimal Master
Meet your rival, Lyle, in a cutscene from ROAD TO THE FIGHTIMAL MASTER.
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