Tagged: writer

Poems from the Vault – The Power of the Storm.

Here’s a random oldie plucked from the Vault; check it out if you wish.  Thanks for reading, be well, and stay creative.

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Library Lusting.

Freshness.  In a word, this week’s space conjures up the word ‘freshness’.  Maybe it’s the cool richness of the hardwood floor, or the warm natural light flushing in from the large windows.  Either way, it is fresh, ambitious, creative, and far from ordinary.  Books stacked all the way to a tiled ceiling, accompanied by comfy little bed.  The perfect combination.  If only the words in those books would visit the sleeper each night…what wonderful dreams they’d create.  This is most certainly a book lover’s room.  Let the daydreams commence.

1000 Posts.

One. Thousand. Posts.  A thousand posts.  That’s quite a lot of random musings amassed over the course of eight years, and I have to say, it’s been a long, challenging, exciting, tiring, but ultimately satisfying ride.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about (and damn near highly considered) quitting this blog.  On many a day, it has seemed like a complete waste of time…but in the end, the passion to communicate and the deep drive to create and express wins out.  

I consider myself a writer, and Writers Write.  I don’t believe that a writer should write for likes and follows. I believe that a writer should write what’s written on the inside.  Sounds cheesy and cliche, but it’s true. We all have a message or messages within us, just waiting to see the light of day; we all have a voice waiting to be spoken in whatever medium gives it life. Convey it, whatever it may be.  

No preachy preaching from me, though…just write. You can’t reach everyone….so just be true to yourself and create.  Cast your net out there…it doesn’t matter how big it is.  If you can snag a few fish, then smile.  If you don’t, keep going and smile anyway. Do your thing, stick with it, be consistent, and give your voice a stage.  And most importantly, many, many thanks to those that have taken part in the journey!  Your support is priceless, and I thank you.

Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from The Passing at Highway 10.

Check out this excerpt from an upcoming short story about…zombies.  Read on, if that’s your thing.  Best of days to all, and thanks for dropping by.



No, this was real. And it was scary. And it was happening right before our eyes whether we were ready for it or not. All our lives, we live and breathe and feel invulnerable, like no disaster will ever reach our shores…like nothing bad will ever happen to tear our own little personal worlds apart. And when it does happen, everything we’ve ever known, understood, prepared for…gets thrown out the fucking window. “Yeah, zombies”, I said again into the silence, and it broke that silence like a rock through a pane of old glass. “What the fuck was that?“, Sam whispered into the dim light, and I heard him say “Oh shit, that back door”, and he took off and made his way to the back. I told Sally to wait here while me and another guy followed Sam to the back of the place. I heard it then too…a bumping or knocking sound coming from outside the door. Maybe they were trying to get in. We all looked at each other, and slowly and silently moved our way to toward the door.

Storytime Saturday, featuring an excerpt from an as yet unnamed tale.

Grab a drink, post up in a chair, and take a few minutes to dig into this little story snippet.  Thanks for reading; let me know what you think.  Stay creative.

     At long last, it appeared as though they were nearing their destination; the deeper they got, the more the forest seemed to close in tightly around them, and the unmistakable rustle of the oversized jungle leaves grew nearer. Up ahead, the driver finally made the decision to ease up on the gas, and the bus began to slow its pace as the road began to narrow. His heart began to race at the anticipation of what existed outside the comfort of the bus, and as this was his first international assignment, he was eager to get his feet wet and explore.  
     The bus’ brakes began to squeal loudly as it came to a slow stop. They were approaching a large clearing, surrounded by the intensely rich green of the surrounding jungle. The air began to surge in through the windows, and with a shudder, the bus came to a complete halt. He glanced around the bus, and all within were hurriedly gathering themselves and their belongings, stretching tired bodies and sleeping limbs from such a long journey. She was collecting her bag, and running her fingers through her wind tousled hair; she wore a green jacket that hugged her body just right, and she pulled on a well-worn cap that rested comfortably over her eyes.