my grandmother
can't wear watches.
she and time are
old enemies--he kills
the timekeepers dead
the moment they dare
touch
her skin.

his greatest revenge
was my birth.
the clock above the fireplace,
gold filigree, walnut encased,
that hadn't worked in days
(or was it years?)
chimed 13 times the day
my mother labored.

a new born reminder that
he would always win.

now i never wear
watches and am
always
late.

out of respect.

you understand.

River--
the house was awake, stirred by the restless call and response--blessings--
after, pictures would show only the remnants of the seven empty bottles.
Three red.
Three white.
One sparkling, with a cork found lodged in the tree outside.
Nothing of the women.

Seven women left to feed an old murky
dream built by bitter second sons.

Can't you hear?

River--

It's a familiar refrain:
got any change? I appreciate it, little lady,
any kind of
change.
on the way to work, on the way home
I never have cash
and when I do
I lie.
Sometimes we make eye contact.
Usually we don't.
One of these days he'll be gone,
and I'll think about all the coins that fall out of my pockets, purses, dresses, and hate myself.
Then again maybe I won't.

Not a lie.
I never change.

Hello Lovelies,

Do you like the photo? A few weeks ago, I looked out my office window from the 21st floor of my day job. Across the expanse was a bright blue Hi?! I settled in and waited for the next installment and was rewarded by the message in the image.

While I'll probably never know the story (is there a matching message on my building? nothing? who started it?), the message is a poignant reminder beautiful moments happen in real life.

No matter if you celebrate Valentine's Day or actively avoid it, I hope you are still able to find the magic around you.

Happy writing!

He found her on a god forsaken dessert planet
far from any map his mother had painstakingly drawn for
him.

She was in a cage.
The kind that said she was worth more alive than dead--
but only just.
He bought her
for a bargain. He asked, as he signed,
the papers if she was human.

Only half, the slave keeper said.
half demon, half human.
When the cage door opened, she
looked at him.

In all that was to follow
he would never know
if it was the human
or the devil
looking at him
--ready to devour him whole. 

The current draft has over 40,000 words in it, and I did my requisite happy dance to make it half way through. Then, for the next week, I stalled. I watched Netflix, ate lots of ice cream, read books and generally didn't think about the draft. Mainly because every time I did think about the story a splinter of worry started prodding me. 

Now this happens to me. At a couple points in the draft, I will throw my hands up and declare I will never write another word. I will be convinced my story is terrible, everything is terrible. Usually I give it a few days, I come back and get back to work. 

It hasn't worked this time. Unfortunately a good solid 2,000 words in the draft will need to be scrapped. Just not working for me. While it is frustrating to have to go back and essentially re-write, I know I need to get this sorted out now before moving on. 

The title of the post is "Graveyard," and I'm blanking on who came up with the concept. Essentially the idea is to name a document, or folder, and have it the designated place for all the outtakes in a given story. The concept is nice because then the pieces and parts don't get lost. This story is a first, yet again, in the number of outtakes. 

I always know its the right move to start again though if the words come easier, and suddenly it all clicks. Oh well, guess I just get to do my 40k happy dance all over again. 

Hello Lovelies! 

I  hope you all had a wonderful New Year's Eve. Just wanted to write a quick post to give an update on my plans moving forward. 

Catspaw is now out. Whew. All the links are live, and I've gotten it up on Smashwords. Moonshine is also now up on Smashwords. I've also changed the cover for the eBook and Print. No text was changed though, so no need to rebuy Moonshine. The cover now looks more like I orginally envisioned. I started using a site called Canva and that's given me a lot more flexiblity and options. 

I'm currently working on a new series tentatively called Chicago. While Ravana was more fantasy, the story I'm currently writing is more on the lines of dystopian, alternate reality. Typically I'm able to sit down and rough out the first draft in one to two months and then get to work filling in the edges. For some reason, this one has taken more effort to get nailed down. I've gotten all the way through it once, then had to scrap it. I finally have the story where I want it, so it's just a matter of getting words on paper. The plan is to have four books in this series. 

Right now, roughly, the idea is to get the new book out and then work on the edits for the third Ravana book. I'm at four all told for the Ravana books. The first three are the stories of the orginial trio and the fourth focus on other charcaters. I'm not sure yet what will happen next. I hope to do more work in that world. 

I have more ideas bubbling, but that's a few years down the way. Who knows mayble I'll get faster at this book business? 

​is akin to sucking the venom
out of a rattlesnake bite
and spitting it into the desert.

Much more
useful in fiction.

Fate encompasses why the world spins
why no word rhymes with orange and
why it just didn't work out.

Steady, unwavering belief that all the
strings are eventually tied,
all lost dogs found,
every mitten left out in the snow
finds a mate
has never been a
flaw of mine.

I am much more willing 
to believe in a deity
that set up our own system
and walked away. 

Our wonderland is the 
parallel reality of all that 
could have been. 

The missed buses,
the upswept umbrellas,
the kiss with the wrong one
and a 
dance with the right one. 

Instead, let's love the idea
that time does not exist.

And everything I could--
I should-- have been
is already happening
will always happen
and
has
never
happened.

Meant to be in more
realities than mine.

(the stack of turtles sinks lower

into the pools of the worlds)

Uncertainty is embraced
when I look
at equations I cannot-
willnot-
understand.

Chaos is loved much more
when a fall that should have
been nothing
spins a life around like a
penny caught on the edge
and then slapped face down--

In another world,
I never lose socks,
never wear mittens,
and hate oranges.

In another world,
I said yes--

In another world,
you asked--