Once upon a time (Tuesday before last), there lived a dragon. He was not the sort of dragon you are probably thinking of. He did have wings, and a long pointy tail with a long neck to match, and even little lumps where horns would be, just in front of his ears. Unfortunately, that was where his resemblance to most dragons ended, because he was roughly the same size as a Chihuahua, his wings were so tiny that the effect was downright comical, and he was the precise shade of pastel pink that lip gloss manufacturers would call Cotton Dandy and paint manufacturers would call Wistful Dream.
To top it all off, he was fuzzy. Holding him was like holding a warm, slightly squirmy peach.
He was not, as you may have already guessed, a wild dragon. Wild dragons were crimson or ebony or emerald. They were giant, scaly fire-breathers who lived in caves in dramatic-looking cliffs and slept on huge piles of gold. He lived in an apartment with his owner and slept in a little basket with a powder-blue cushion.
She called him Dinkums.
My novelette “Real Dragons Don’t Wear Sweaters” is now available via Smashwords, in every format they offer except plain text — meaning you can read it on your computer, your Kindle, your Palm thingie, your Nook doohickey, and all those other newfangled things they make for reading books these days. (In my day, we had to read books on paper! And sometimes it would even cut you! And that was the way it was, and we LIKED IT!)
Erm. Anyway. Check it out here:
(Once again, my thanks to S.E.T. for the awesome cover art!)