Morgan J. Muir
Bio
Morgan is an award-winning fantasy author. One day she set pencil to paper and began writing down stories and just never stopped.
She lives in Utah with her husband, 3 kids, a dog, and far too many cats. Her books are available on Amazon.
Stories (5/0)
Slipknot
Chapter 1 Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. With my eyes closed, and my lungs empty. The thunderous racing of my heartbeat rang through my ears, deafening against the silence. I relaxed, letting the sharp nothingness of raw, empty space envelope my naked skin. Rapid decompression was always painful, but it was a pain with which I had become accustomed.
By Morgan J. Muir2 years ago in Fiction
Once More
The unnatural silence clung to the man’s ears. His boots should have crunched on the gravel with each step, or his chainmail and leather armor creaked. Instead, there was only muffled stillness in the mist. The watchman wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced at the dark, panther-sized cat walking by his side.
By Morgan J. Muir3 years ago in Fiction
Maravilla
1773 - Maracaibo Reina pulled herself onto the stone ledge that lined in the flower beds. Her small, bare foot snagged on her skirt hem a moment, and she yanked it free. Catching her balance, she looked back at the main house of the hacienda. The thick wooden door of the kitchen was closed, so Cook wouldn’t be watching. She could hear a horse in the courtyard, but she was alone within the pale walls of the garden. Reina bit her lip and crouched down, reaching her hand toward an orange and red flower. It felt soft beneath her fingers, and she paused. “Tía Emelia says I’m not supposed to pick the flowers.”
By Morgan J. Muir3 years ago in Families
Kanzashi
I collect hobbies like a little boy collects seashells. Kanzashi is my latest obsession. The careful folding of cloth, fabric origami sewn together into vibrant creations, has captured my soul. Before me lay precise squares of bright cloth, destined, today, to become flowers. I have a plan, an image in my mind of the symmetrical, stunning beauty that I’ll soon hold. The cloth is ready. In one hand is my needle. The other holds the thread.
By Morgan J. Muir3 years ago in Families
Please
The cat blinked its amber eyes with a casual slowness, watching the woman from beside the living room door. Her short heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she shifted her weight. She leaned against the antique side table of the sunlit room, her pen scratching across the paper.
By Morgan J. Muir3 years ago in Fiction
