A. J. Schoenfeld
Bio
I only write about the real world. But if you look close enough, you'll see there's magic hiding in plain sight everywhere.
Achievements (10)
Stories (104)
Filter by community
The System to Replace Us
I must confess I use Artificial Intelligence. Not to write, of course. I would never use AI to write anything for me. Not because I am too morally superior to let a machine do my work. Generally speaking, I’m lazy and love shortcuts. The truth is I refuse to use Artificial Intelligence to write because I’m too prideful. I am way too talented of a wordsmith to need AI’s help with writing anything.
By A. J. Schoenfeld3 days ago in Humans
Romantic Picnic For Two. Honorable Mention in Rituals of Affection Challenge.
The evening air hung heavy and hot, unseasonably warm for April. As the sun sank down, hovering just over the mountains in the distance, its angry glare blinded Tanya as she walked westward. Cursing herself for forgetting her sunglasses, she shifted the weight of the pack on her shoulders, letting a rivulet of sweat slip down her spine. Her feet angrily protested her choice to place fashion over function as the leather of her sandals chafed the back of her heel and sides of her toes. But Tanya didn't stop or slow. She moved forward, watching the trees in the distance grow closer with each step.
By A. J. Schoenfeld18 days ago in Fiction
One Hundred
Once upon a time a young girl fell deeply in love with the written word. She read until her brain burst open and stories began pouring out into notebooks, on napkins, and the back of homework. But time passed, life overwhelmed the girl and writing took a backseat as she focused on her growing brood of children. She never forgot her dream and often still scribbled stories in stolen moments of quiet. She often wondered if she could ever be a successful writer. Then, one beautiful day, she found Vocal. The girl, her stories, and Vocal lived happily ever after.
By A. J. Schoenfeld21 days ago in Writers
Field of the Fallen. Top Story - February 2026.
Sunlight danced softly across the frost-crusted fields, making the little blades of grass sparkle like emeralds. The faraway chirrup of a songbird was the only disruption to the quiet of the morning. An icy chill, the last vestige of the dying winter, clung to the air, settling in a thick white mist at the far side of the open field. The heavy stench of decay hung in that mist, punctuation by the sharp tang of freshly spilled blood.
By A. J. Schoenfeld29 days ago in Fiction
A Winter Devotional. Winner in The Ritual of Winter Challenge. Top Story - December 2025.
Large, fluffy white flakes swirl slowly to the ground in a gentle, choreographed waltz. Safe and warm inside my house, wrapped in a cozy blanket on the velvet couch, I watch in silence through the huge front window as everything becomes white. The world, time itself, lessens its pace to match the cadence of the first true snowfall.
By A. J. Schoenfeld3 months ago in Humans
