2010 has been a year of changes, both personal and professional. No, I wasn't published, but I have honed my craft. I wrote four short stories that I feel are noteworthy, "Ten Thousand Souls and The Legend Of Hell Crow," being the best of the lot, both good in different ways, and both inspired by paintings or illustrations by "Nick Rose."

I have something in the works that I won't mention until it's a done deal. I'm nearly finished with my novel "The Bone Extractor," which is a work in progress. As a writer, it's so easy to get distracted and start something completely different. Working full-time, what choice do I have, and working the night shift is even harder.

I have a set of characters I'm developing for a new novel that I hope will surprise you. Not the right crime fighting duel one would expect, but they are more interesting than any I have seen. I'm starting to feel like I'm in my writing zone.

I have noticed the number "11" showing up everywhere the last six months and I feel it's a sign. I think 2011 is going to be an exceptional year, not just for me, but everyone.

Flash Fiction Because I Love You

Lady Annabelle woke just as the clock’s bells rang twelve. Reaching for her husband Luther, who she realized was absent when she felt the cold spot beside her. He must have left hours ago, as he had countless times before. Where he went was a mystery to her, but this night, she felt compelled to find out.

Despite the chill, she pulled her feet out of her feather-down comforter, briefly putting a hand to her swollen abdomen. The baby moved within her as Annabelle moved across the floor to retrieve her dressing gown, covering herself.

Moonlight filtered through the nearly transparent curtains, lighting her way. Not even one ember remained within the fireplace. Surly her husband couldn’t have left her, and their unborn child to freeze, she pondered.

Opening the door leading to the hallway, she grabbed a lit candlestick from the table outside. Silent as a tomb that lay outside, no movement, or sound could be heard as she made her way up the great hall. 

Descending the spiral staircase, she walked slowly down, not wanting to hasten and risk losing her footing. Once on the main floor, she heard sounds coming from the spare bedroom in the back. Freezing briefly, when she heard a scream echoing up the corridor. Annabelle wasn’t dissuaded, and continued her way towards the spare bedroom, stopping in front of the door, placed her ear to the door, and listened.

“Hold her down,” Luther said.

Annabelle knew it was Luther's voice, but whom was he talking to she pondered. More screams were heard and she gingerly pushed open the door a crack. Peering inside, Annabelle spotted a woman with long brown hair held to a table by two men with black hooded cloaks, concealing their faces as they had their back towards the door.

Luther was wearing a black cloak and hood also, and she could see him clearly, a green amulet dangled from his neck. Eleven black candles of different shapes and sizes adorned the room, all lit. 

The woman continued to struggle as Annabelle saw a jeweled dagger held in Luther’s hand, raised above the woman’s breast.

“Dark master, please accept this sacrifice as a sign to know we serve only you,” Luther said. 

Suddenly, Luther dropped his hand, stabbing the woman in the chest. Screams filled the room, and it took a moment before Annabelle realize it came from her. Annabelle froze with fear as Luther and two men she didn’t know, gazed at her.

“Annabelle what are you doing here?” Luther bellowed.

She ran from the doorway and made her way to the great door leading outside. Pulling it open, she ran into the night. Gasping as the cold air gripped her. She ran through the cemetery and slipped through the hole in the fence.

“Annabelle, come back here,” she heard Luther yelling.

She continued to make her way across the frozen grass. Her heart pounded, and the baby kicked, urging her on, and all she could think about is how easy it was for Luther to kill that woman, and she knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her; now that she knew his secret.

She stopped, standing at the edge of the cliff, hearing the roar of the sea, crashing on the rocks below. Turning she saw Luther running towards her. Looking back down the cliff, she knew what she had to do, the only thing she could do. Annabelle stepped off the edge of the cliff.

“No,” Luther screamed! 

He lunged forward, and grabbed her hands before she fell, and breaking one free, she clawed at his face. He let go, but before she fell, she grabbed his amulet, breaking it from his neck, and held it tightly in her hand as she fell.

The Legend Of Hell Crow

Here is a sampling of an epilogue for my story, "Hell Crow," to date this is my best story I have written.


“Sarah, I just want to look at the book.”
“Find your own damn book, this one is mine.”
“Fine language for a five-year-old; your mother would be shocked.”
“Where do you think I learned it from?” Sarah stood rosy cheeks in all as if daring Bobby Sue to attempt to touch the book again. 


The Legend Of Hell Crow is based on a painting by Nick Rose. He wants me to work on a collection of short stories, inspired by his paintings, that we'll publish ourselves. 


I haven't given up on publishing, and will continue to write no matter the outcome.

Is it December already? Time to make gaming companies more money than ever. I should know as I have made my own investments. 


My children have given me a list of the games they want for Christmas. Red Dead Redemption seems to have taken Call Of Duty's glory. My children love the Cabela's games, (Dangerous Hunts, Legendary Adventures) For those not familiar with those games, they are hunting games. If your not keen on Hunting animals for sport, you can always choose, Cabela's African Safari, you use darts to capture endangered animals, and if you use a bullet, and kill the animal, you lose.

All of these games are rated mature or teen, and as parents, we struggle with what is the right to thing to do for our children. They rated Cabela's as Teen, blood, and violence, but it doesn't look like real blood. I think they need to look at the way games are rated. Many of Sonic games use guns, but yet, are not rated harshly.

Game systems are getting more expensive than ever, and everyone is rushing to purchase the latest gadget. I pad, I pod, I don't know? At first, WII seemed to have taken them all by surprise, but now with Playstation move and XBox kinect, the playing field is wide open. Competition is a great thing, and it's giving us more advance gadgets, not all which are great, but it's a beginning.

I want to wish everyone a fabulous holiday season. 

Our basement door is possessed

I have not slept more than fours hours the last two nights. Isn't it strange how when that happens; you begin to see things.

True story. Nick is convinced our townhouse is haunted. It's not something seen, but what you hear that makes you pause.

My bedroom door is hard to open when closed, which it always is when I'm sleeping. When you try to open it you have to pull hard, and it makes enough sound vibrating throughout the townhouse.

Our basement door seems to be possessed. We can be sitting in the living room and watch it open for no reason at all. Today I was talking to Nick in the downstairs bathroom and the basement door creaked open, and I heard the cat meow at the same time.

I searched for her upstairs and downstairs thinking she just came through the door pushing it open. Makes sense, right? After going down to the basement the second time to find her, she was there the whole time.

Nick said. "I have been trying to tell you."

He has been in the living room by himself and watched the door open. It creaks when it opens--not like you can miss that.

Interesting things you hear at the VA Hospital

Another normal day, I think not. It's the interesting things you can hear when in the VA emergency room that makes life interesting.

"Do you have any allergies," the nurse asked? 
"Yes, bullets."

Another nurse responded by dropping all of her paperwork. Might be a great place to spend the day just to hear what someone will say.

Nick keeps cracking jokes which only makes it worse. He told the nurse that I made a cake I was jumping out of for his birthday. I told him that would scar my children for life. He responded by telling me not if I dressed like Spongebob. The nurse said she didn't think she wanted to know where that was going.

That is Nick's way of dealing with things. He cracks jokes when you would think he should be serious. Being as sick as he has, I think having humor about the situation is a good thing. I'm still waiting for life to get back to normal. Maybe things are as normal as they can be, and I should be satisfied with what I have.

I bought Nick a SUV for his birthday: socks, underwear, and Viagra.
Nick, paybacks are a bitch!

Shattered within my broken mind. I hide behind my blank stare and fool them into thinking I'm one of them. Hanging my head down as they approach; to disguise my hatred. 


Who is the fool now?


My hatred is a fire that has burned deep inside of me for longer than I could tell you. Already I attempt to quell my shaking hands as under my robe I hold a sickle. 


Waiting. . . 
Waiting. . .
Wanting to spill blood.


Rising at last when the nun moves within reach.
I strike with deadly aim and as she stares up at me with a surprised glance within her slowly fading eyes.
I smile.

Why dreams are better than books

What exactly are dreams supposed to mean? They are better and often more frightening than books could ever be. 

I had a dream I was shot in the chest. I did wake up afterward, but in my dream, it was a movie I was watching.

My most recent dream was about someone who read his own obituary in the paper. I couldn't tell you how many people I have warned if you keep reading the obituaries in the newspaper, one day you'll see your own.

In this case, the person was not dead and he was pissed. His answer was simple; he decided to kill his family. They were all ready trying to pass him off for dead after-all.

When I said he wanted to kill them. I mean murder them in a heinous manner that would cause massive amounts of blood to spurt from their bodies into pools at their feet.

Maybe it's just me, but I see nothing wrong with that. Maybe he was dead or laying in a box waiting to be dumped by them. He was totally justified in my opinion, but then again this was my dream.

Dreams are stories that merge into each other with no reason other than to confuse the reader. Believe me, I'm more confused than ever.


This dream was the result of finding out a former patient passed away after a lengthy battle with leukemia. May he rest in peace and let me rest when I sleep.