Ink & Light
Ink & Light explores the intersection of storytelling and cinema, weaving vivid imagery, deep emotions, and thought-provoking ideas into every piece.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 4
- Latest publication
- Sep 20, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Aug 2, 2026
Latest issues
The Seal of Bewitching Slumber Episode Six (opens the original)
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A squall of wind precedes a tempest, almost knocking me to the ground. The sky darkens. Under my feet the gems begin to be drained of color, turning to stone, dead and mundane. I look back at the creature. In its eyes I do not see fear, but the sinking gaze of one hopelessly condemned. As it slips back, surrendering to the growing shadow, its six paws wave me away. My last sight of it is its fading eyes…warning me not to share in its damnation.Previously "The Circle of War" — twelve years before
Prose Poems I : Servāre Servandum (opens the original)
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servāre — to keep, preserve, protect, guard, maintain, or save; to keep something intact, faithful to its nature, and safe from loss, corruption, or violation.I took another sip of the mocktail, unfortunately the only one in the chattering group still sober. On and on they went about their adventures in dating. The “icks,” how they determine if someone is “high value,” litmus tests to see who brings what to whomever’s table, net worth minimums, what counts as a low-effort first date... it was a
From A Writer’s Story Drawer | Maya (opens the original)
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This one is a beloved gem, only rivaled by “The Slip.” Fortunately, I’m actually in pre-production to produce this particular short film. It’s full of motifs, riddles, intention, and admittedly some language. I’m assigning it to the romance category, in a very loose sense. It (and its full story) began as a genre indulgence, but with every word grew more meaning, and from meaning intention, and then a narrative conceit. I’m itching to shoot this film, and its visual style will be another fun ind
After Hours, In the Writer’s Room | Season 2 | #1 (opens the original)
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My nerves are frayed, and walking down the artists loft hall towards the door felt like the early days back in college waiting in the halls of the theatre for my turn to audition. Heart pounding, rehearsing the monologue in my mind, slightly nauseous, sweating, hoping that when I’m called I don’t make an absolute fool of myself.But instead of carrying a Shakespeare monologue, I was walking the halls with the black binder protecting the 194 pages of my very unpolished first draft of my screenplay
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