Diary of the writer on the run poster


The closer I ventured to the house, the darker the windows seemed to be – the lights hadn’t just been turned off, something else had filled the space left behind by the light.

I eased the front door open and closed it quietly behind me. I edged across the floor towards the stairs.

A dark shape appeared at the top of the staircase, making me jump out of my skin.

The hitman.

But there was no immediate attempt to kill me. Instead he turned and disappeared.

I hurried up the stairs after him.

He loomed in the room I’d been using as a study, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He grasped a manuscript in his gloved hand – one I hadn’t got around to working on yet.

“Where did you get this?” he growled.

“I found it on my desk,” I shrugged. “Like I always do. It came from him – the same as all the others.”

The hitman’s expression was grave.

“No. It didn’t.”

I stared at him dumbfounded.

“What do you mean – it didn’t,” I uttered.

“This didn’t come from him,” the hitman snapped. “Someone else broke in here and left it for you.”

“Why would they do that?” I blurted.

“I don’t know.” The hitman slammed the manuscript back on the desk, making papers and books spill onto the carpet. He gave me a murderous dark scowl. “There’s something about you they find special.”

“I haven’t found what the detective left,” I blurted.

“I know.” He strode out of the room. “Looks like you’re too important to kill – for now. You’d better get on with it.”

I studied the mystery manuscript. I scrolled through hours and days of security footage. I found nothing. No one could have got in, left the manuscript and got out again without us knowing. But someone did.

Chariot Awaiting

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My first thought then was – where the hell was ShadowAspect when I needed him? Why wasn’t Sarasin Shade paying attention? Or was I just expendable. Maybe he was stalking another failing writer at that very moment.

In total darkness with the hood over my head and my hands tied behind my back, two pairs of hands marched me around the corner of the cathedral and away from the meeting place I had arranged with Six.

I heard something speeding down a nearby street and skid to a halt just metres ahead of me. The side door of a transit van slid open and two or three people jumped out.

“Your chariot awaits, Mister Rybak.”

Staring into the Infinistra

jason ryback bullet point for blogI should have turned and run from the cave as soon as I saw them, as soon as I realised I was writing about dangerous people living in the same world as me. I should have run for safety. But I couldn’t.

I had to stare into the Infinistra. I had to see more stories.

I found myself sitting on the floor next to Sarasin. The longer I watched, the more I was able to see and take in.

Then Arvalane stood with us and pointed to the far left of the Infinistra, in time to see a sleigh drawn by nine reindeer shoot out of a screen of ice. The ancient elf driving it made his way across the screen, appearing in thousands of images over the Infinistra. He was too quick for my eyes to follow. But as I watched, he seemed to slow down, like time itself was slowing down around us.

Eventually ShadowAspect hauled me to my feet and wrenched me away from the Infinistra. The moment my eyes left it, my head swam. The cave span around me. I felt like I wanted to throw up.

I collapsed to my knees and blacked out.


jason ryback bullet point for blogI need food. I haven’t eaten in days. No chance of an expensive takeout and I can’t afford a sugar or carb crash, so it needs to be something quick and healthy.


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I haven’t moved since my last post. It’s dark again already. Everything I own sits in heaps on the floor around me. I haven’t found anything. No cameras. No listening devices. No holes in the walls, floors or ceilings. The doors and windows are secure. But someone is watching me. I know they are.

I’m not alone

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It happened again. I lay awake in bed for hours last night, staring into the darkness. I couldn’t see anything, but I could feel someone’s eyes on me. I turned over and over, trying to ignore it, but it was no use. I was sure I could sense a presence moving about in my flat. I wasn’t alone.

It’s happening again

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Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Why did I think another move would make any difference? I haven’t slept in weeks. I can barely think straight. It’s the same as the last place I lived – and the three before that. I just want a good night sleep. I want to write.

a new start

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It’s been a slow few months. The day job’s been busy. I’ve had to move a few times, which is unfortunate. Just unpacking my things in my new flat now. It’s small, but that works for me in more ways than one. This place is comfortable. It will feed my imagination. I can’t wait to start writing again and get my first book out into the world.