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Mike Whitacre
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CROOKED PIECES, "A Melodic Persuit"
Celestial
Strings was a small guitar shop, located in the part of downtown
where ragged and jaded were a community requirement: It seemed
remarkably similar to the Crowley Vintage Records from the outside.
However, when Turbine Dozer walked through the door...
Celestial Strings was a small guitar shop, located in the part of downtown where ragged and jaded were a community requirement: It seemed remarkably similar to the Crowley Vintage Records from the outside. However, when Turbi...
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Mike Whitacre

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Welcome to the Mike Whitacre Channel. My channel.
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Mike Whitacre

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CROOKED PIECES - "Privileged Until Proven Innocent"
  His
eyelids peeled open. The
minor action came with a particular sting and a major headache,
hitting him as soon as he saw the blurry, dank world before him.
Blake Ward tried to get up as he shook his head back to normal, for
the most part, but he soon re...
His eyelids peeled open. The minor action came with a particular sting and a major headache, hitting him as soon as he saw the blurry, dank world before him. Blake Ward tried to get up as he shook his head back to normal, f...
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Mike Whitacre

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CROOKED PIECES - "The Needle Game"
She
was flat. Atrophy
felt as if she had melted inside a volcano when the gravity bullets
caused her to be flattened into a paste. However, seconds into
forming back to her original state proved to be twice as taxing and
equally unpleasant: every cell expan...
She was flat. Atrophy felt as if she had melted inside a volcano when the gravity bullets caused her to be flattened into a paste. However, seconds into forming back to her original state proved to be twice as taxing and e...
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Here it is, finally. The video that's really a podcast.
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CROOKED PIECES - "A Vulnerable Constellation"
  There
was no such thing as escape. Not
to her, not in Liberty Smith’s mind. Walking a block may have taken
a minute, but it was a long minute of clenched teeth and sweaty
palms. It wasn’t that she was paranoid, it wasn’t that she was
agoraphobic, and she ...
There was no such thing as escape. Not to her, not in Liberty Smith’s mind. Walking a block may have taken a minute, but it was a long minute of clenched teeth and sweaty palms. It wasn’t that she was paranoid, it wasn’t tha...
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CROOKED PIECES, "Kindled Ire"
The
smell of burnt timbre wafted into her nostrils before the headache
set in. Tabitha Goldstein’s eyes slowly peeled open as she rose her
head off the ground, gripping her brow to try and massage the skull,
however slightly. When she regained most of her f...
The smell of burnt timbre wafted into her nostrils before the headache set in. Tabitha Goldstein’s eyes slowly peeled open as she rose her head off the ground, gripping her brow to try and massage the skull, however slightly...
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CROOKED PIECES, "Throbs, Thieves, and Thearchies"
Musty...
So what else was new? Carlton
Hinder woke up with a splitting headache. He was still holding onto
the bottle of Scotch from last night. Since it was empty, his powers
of deduction concluded that his alcoholism was the source of the
headache. The cr...
Musty... So what else was new? Carlton Hinder woke up with a splitting headache. He was still holding onto the bottle of Scotch from last night. Since it was empty, his powers of deduction concluded that his alcoholism was ...
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CROOKED PIECES - "Fading Blood Ties"
    Wet,
damp air. The
rain poured out of the night sky with a pounding rage, a consistent
noise that no one could avoid. Yet, there was something about this
weather, this atmosphere of falling droplets and encumbering mist,
that casted a blanket of thick s...
Wet, damp air. The rain poured out of the night sky with a pounding rage, a consistent noise that no one could avoid. Yet, there was something about this weather, this atmosphere of falling droplets and encumbering mist, th...
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CROOKED PIECES - "Evil-isms"
  Turbine
stumbled in the club. It
was night, nine o’clock, and he was already edging his limit of
alcoholic beverages. Since the night started, he was in an aimless
mood, and he had no choice but to follow it. The club was small, lit
by a red glow that was...
Turbine stumbled in the club. It was night, nine o’clock, and he was already edging his limit of alcoholic beverages. Since the night started, he was in an aimless mood, and he had no choice but to follow it. The club was ...
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Mike Writes, Ep. 2: "Mad, Sweet Something-Nothings" - In this episode, things aren't as long as the last episode, but a quick bumbling fool is still a bumbling fool...
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Mike Writes, Ep. #1: "I Bit That Curb, And It Was A Juicy Metaphor." - Or the ramblings of a madman, talking at prerecorded, boring footage...
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Story
Tagline
Fiction Writer.
Introduction
I'm a certified blob, and a fiction writer. I have a blog for short stories and a serial. Also, here's my YouTube Channel... it's a thing, I suppose.
Basic Information
Gender
Male
Work
Occupation
Fiction Writer
Skills
Writing imaginative, action-packed prose.
Links
Contributor to
Mike Whitacre's +1's are the things they like, agree with, or want to recommend.
When The World Burned - "Prologue: Singe Sonata"
mikewhitacre.blogspot.com

She stood there. Fire and brimstone couldn’t touch her, and the night was full of it. No one seemed to notice her but me, as the riot broke