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I have 328 stories published in 10 collections on the site.
My stories have been read 97999 times and 198 of my stories have been cherry picked.
1 of my 120 comments have been voted Great Feedback with a total of 1 vote

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Ashton Macaulay

My name is Ashton, I am the author of the Nick Ventner Adventures, currently available anywhere books are sold, but if you need some links:

I take most of my inspiration from a lifelong anxiety disorder that has constantly tried to convince me the world revolves around my death. Writing about death-defying situations with a humorous bend has helped me cope and produced what I feel are some interesting stories. In an age filled with plenty of non-fiction to keep us grounded, I’m trying to create literature that transports readers away to the big adventure novels of old and pokes fun at just about everything that goes bump in the night.

I currently live in Seattle with a true menagerie of two cats, and two dogs. They are featured frequently in everything I do, be it typos in my work, or strange photoshops to use as my website header. Thanks for reading, enjoy this image of my dog, Louie.

My stories

Gold cherry

The First Ambassador to Crustacea - 8

Previous Chapter 8. Darkness Pilsen shivered in the cold, dank confines of wherever the hell the lobsters had put him. His limbs ached, and the...

The First Ambassador to Crustacea - 7

Previous Chapter 7. Friends Zip read over the mission briefing one more time. Transport VIP to planet, monitor situation, protect VIP. Three tasks,...

The First Ambassador to Crustacea - 6

Previous Chapter 6. Pressure Huron woke to the familiar pressure that came with being deep below the waves and a nagging sensation that something had...

The First Ambassador to Crustacea - 5

Previous Chapter 5. A Firefight Zip watched out the cockpit window as Pilsen walked away with two of the largest crustaceans she had ever seen. The...

The First Ambassador to Crustacea - 4

Previous Chapter 4. The Niceties Hot, humid air hit Pilsen in a wave as the cargo ramp lowered down from Nana’s Hog. The sickly, salt smell of brine...