Trans Wizard Harriet Porber And The Bad Boy Parasaurolophus: An Adult Romance Novel by Chuck Tingle

Author:Chuck Tingle [Tingle, Chuck]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-12T04:00:00+00:00

I tried to find a place on the opposite end of the island, I really did, but for some reason nothing seemed to suit me. The original cabin was so cozy, so perfect for a wizard like myself, that some random shack up for seasonal rental just won’t do.

Of course, I’m also working with a limited budget, and although the advance for my second spell was quite generous, it needs to last me a long time, maybe even several years. Besides, I haven’t even gotten half of the way through writing this one.

Fortunately, I eventually found a place that called out to me in the same way Minerma’s cabin did, a small cottage nestled up in the woods that overlooks the same cove I was originally trapped in. I was weary about being this close to Snabe’s place, partly out of my disdain for the parasaurolophus, partly because I’d rather Dellatrix didn’t know where I lived. After the break in, there’s no telling what that motorcycle is capable of, but I’m also trying to deny her any sway over my life at this point, for better or worse.

The cottage has a deck that’s absolutely perfect for spellcraft on, allowing me to sit out in the shade of the massive evergreens while I gaze down at the sparkling water far, far below. It’s technically possible to hike down to the beach from here, but even with treemus passious it would take a very, very long time and you might end up breaking your legs when you tumble down over the steep, rocky cliff side.

I feel protected here, perched up high so I can see the rest of the world coming. The only thing this private getaway hasn’t provided yet, however, are words on the parchment.

The move was quick and easy, but now that I’m here, the inspiration I assumed would come bubbling back has refused to rear its head. Instead, I find myself staring at my spell parchment, then hopping back on the word processor for hours on end, then switching over to Solitaire, wasting away my day as digital playing cards dance their way across my laptop computer screen.

Lately, I’ve started confronting an utterly terrifying thought, something that has been hinted at by a number of wizards, including myself, but rarely ever said out loud.

Is it possible I can’t create without pain in my life? Is drama the fuel that I need to survive as a wizard?

I certainly hope not, but the longer I sit up here on my perch, slowly burning through my spell advance money as the days stretch into weeks, I’m not so sure anymore. The most productive I’ve been during this entire trip was when things were getting the craziest.

Back then, ritual incantations were flowing like water from my fingertips.

I’ve tried everything to get myself started up again, struggling to jump my creative motor through long walks in the woods and one or two day trips to the other islands nearby. Nothing seems to help, although

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