Be Afraid. Be VERY Afraid. Please?

So I’ve sat on this thing for awhile, but now I can share it. Literally.

A while back, I was invited by Horror author G. R. Wilson (, along with other word-crafters, to contribute to an Horror anthology e-book.

I was pleased to see via email this morning that the collection is ready for your review, perusal, insight, enjoyment and all those other words that mean “have-a-look-see”.

I’m pretty proud of my little slice of scary, and look forward to enjoying my colleagues work as well.

So, please, stand up, put your hands together, then apart, then together again for several rounds, for “Hand Full of Horror”, written by Us, edited by the gracious Mr. G. R. Wilson, and available through the Dropbox links below. (PDF Format) (Epub Format)

Enjoy – It’s free. You’re Welcome. Now hurry up and be scared.

Skip To The End…….

It’s funny. You know, things and stuff.

All that waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Hurry up to go here. Hurry up to go there. Hurry up and go. Hurry up and stay.

All that waiting for stuff to happen.

It seems like most everything takes forever. Especially things you weren’t expecting to go through, but you now find them permanently etched in the sidebar of your memory.

And then quite suddenly it has already happened and you are on to something else.

It makes me question whether or not Time actually exists. We think about Time. We talk about Time. We bitch about it, like, all the Time. We don’t have enough. We have too much.

We have a multitude of devices, habits and rituals that organize and pass the Time on our behalf so we aren’t sitting around waiting for the Time to run out.

But what if, just maybe, Time is all in our heads. The Universe, possibly, is just this big floating multidimensional puddle of cosmic vomit, slowly sliding down the drain of reality.

It doesn’t register the passing of anything. It is constantly moving in a state of Now.

Somehow, We are all just minnows, wading through ethereal puke, trying to make sense of the Now with a limited vocabulary and a severe case of Hyperopia. That’s fancy talk for farsightedness. (It’s okay – I Googled it. Took no Time at all.)

Once upon a Time, that would be just crazy talk. But fortunately, I think those days may be over.

Or maybe it’s all just a little bit of History Repeating. Like a “This has all happened before. And it will happen again. So say we all.”, sort of a thing. I guess Time will tell.

Man, I really need some down Time….

TL;dr Something something Time. Here we go into the HOME Stretch.

The L Word

Life. Don’t talk to me about Life.


The days drift in and out of each other like the soapy water at my feet, sliding down the drain.

Suns rise. Rain falls. Like, A LOT.

The flat (very, very flat) landscape stretches out beyond the strange words and phrases and eerily similar pace of life.

And quite suddenly – it’s been six years.

I remember the day, the night, the moment. those precious wee hours, huddled together on the couch.

And it all feels like a whole lifetime ago.

It is easier to hide it all away, how much it hurts to be away. To keep it bottled up. 

To face the mirror, see the reflection, knowing it knows what i know. 

I am missing so much, everyday. 

The milestones and important days. The moments of clarity and sparks of imagination. The tears and the joys.

The comfort of your sanity and stability not lying next to you.

It kills me. All the time. So i try to keep it together.

Listen – there is an end date. This won’t last forever. It is a minor interruption in our regularly scheduled programming.

So i’ll stack up the days, side by side, like a line of heroes facing the music. Transform them into a fluid string of experience and opportunity, and recognize it will be all ok.

I’m hugging you all. I’m holding you tight. Everyday, as i walk through my life away from My Life.

You are all in my heart.

You are all my Life.

I love you.

Ah jeez, dry your eyes, already.


Remember that time when I was somewhere else?

Yeah. Me too. Good Times.

I’m still there, but I’m about to find myself going somewhere else.

Something, something leaves and wind. Time to Face the inevitable. 

Seriously. I just frowned out. No, not really.

I am surprisingly melancholy. I’ve enjoyed my time here, and although I am far removed from all that I love, it has been a real education. I shall treasure it.

Next up, I will find myself in new scenic environs, with all new sights, sounds and coffee shops.

I’m not entirely sure how long this particular “regeneration” of my professional role will last, but it will, I am sure, be another fine mess I have gotten myself into.

I wonder what it will be like?

That’s not  the question I should be asking. 

What I should be asking is What will I be like after it’s all done?

Often, we find ourselves nose-pressed-to-the-silver-plate of unexpected challenge. That’s me when I’m not at home.

So I have elected to utilize my time to reach down, find some gravitas, and discover the person I really think I am. And the person I deserve to be. I “choose” the face I want to wear. 

So stepping to the edge of the diving board, I take a Deep Breath, and jump.

Before I do though:

A moment of Silence for Robin Williams, Lauren Bacall, and Sir Richard Attenborough.

It’s been a hell of a week.


Classic Half Empty or Classic Half Full?

I was given the option of writing this entry using the “easy” method, or I could choose the “classic” mode.

Can you tell the difference?

Yeah, neither can I, from here.

Still, I guess it’s nice to be asked.

There has been a lot of that going around. New and improved, with a nod to what was, if you want.

We just can’t seem to let go of how it used to be. 

We need to have that connection, that ongoing tether through the ether, to days of yore.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m all good with classic mode, but it is nice to change it up once in awhile.

Everything old is new again, and there is nothing new under the sun.

I wonder if maybe all our digitized what-iffing goes somewhere to be cataloged, alphabetized and stacked on neatly dusted shelves.

Like some great candy store store of wonder. Colorful jars filled with the soft chewy concepts of our purpose and our intentions…..

Overseen and tended to by a kindly old guy in a pristine white smock……


Did I just invent God?


That’s hilarious. Me inventing God.

That is Classic Me, all the way.

Eyes And Ears…..And All That Jazz…..

Let me lay it down for you, real easy like.

Children should be seen and not heard.

That’s an old adage that is probably older in practice than we realize.

And it is complete bull-shit.

Here’s why:

Children generally have no filter. They have no concept, in the beginning, of behaviors and attitudes that we as adults tend employ with each other on a minute by minute basis, depending on our audience.

They can only speak truths, and stop doing that when they learn the trick of deceit from us, you dig?

They are a mirror to our own twisted and misdirected pathway from innocence to guilt. And we don’t like it.

We REALLY don’t like it. We never have. Hence the saying.

How dare a child call us out, and hoist us up on our own petard?

Because they can, and they should. We need to be reminded every once in awhile that, as adults or as parents, we aren’t always right. We aren’t always correct. And we don’t always know what we are talking about.

It’s also ok to be wrong. And for our children to see us accepting the fact that we can be wrong.

If they never see it, they’ll never believe it.

Until it happens. In a big way. And their whole world changes in the blink of an eye.

All because, apparently, they should have been seen and not heard.

The correct version of that old adage is of course the obvious:

Children SHOULD be seen, AND heard.

But also:

Parents should watch, and listen.

Stop, Look and Listen, Baby. That’s MY philosophy.

Alright, so Elvis isn’t exactly synonymous with jazz, but you can pick up what I’m laying down, right?


Resistance is Fruitful

Holy. Effing. Eff.

(I’m trying to curb my substantial swearing habit)

I did it!

I unhooked from the Big Blue Monster!

For seven long years, my main source of information regarding any and all goings on in my neck of the woods, beckoned to me like a Hollywood marquee.

Picture albums. Casual events. Random posts.

Likety Like like like.

Great epochs of time and energy spent as part of the little social engine that could.

But when reality spills over the sides of our little Ark of conformity, and soaks us where we live, it’s time to take stock of what is most important.

And Facebook just ain’t on that list.

For 50, 000 years our civilization survived without it. I think I can manage the next 40 or so.

And like any good addict can tell you, giving up the juice is easy.

Staying off is the hard part.

Here’s to Day One of being clean.

All Apologies

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry we don’t seem to get along right now.

I’m sorry my expectations are too high.

I’m sorry if the words that I choose are frustrating and annoying to you.

It was never my intention to cause more harm than good.

But it seems I have been totally wrong.

Wrong about how I view the world.

Wrong about how I interact with it.

Wrong about how I feel.

Wrong to say so.

I’m sorry.

I guess maybe the trick is to not be so inflexible.

Sure, we are all raised, and/or grow up with a certain catalogue of values we try to live by. But it’s usually the accepted practice to let things slide a bit, when it comes to family.

We give leeway. We oblige. We shrug our shoulders and shake our heads, chuckling quietly to ourselves.

Because it’s different with family. We should allow them to let us down, or rail against us with abandon, and let it go because we are blood.

After all, it’s only what we believe in. It only really matters when we show it to other people. We don’t actually have to live by our beliefs or anything.

Our families deserve a bypass on the tough calls.

That’s just the way it is.


I’m sorry.

The world is a blur, and I shall mourn its passing

This was posted as part of a Word Prompts challenge on Reddit.

The words stared back from the page, haunting Derek like a broken promise. He often found himself here lately, hidden well back from the store front, lost amongst these dusty, forgotton tomes. Late afternoon sunlight bounced off the windows across the street, stirring up bizarre tableaus amongst the shelves and shapes in the darkened bookstore.

He had started and stopped so many times, each more disappointing than the last. He had somehow misplaced his drive, his motivation. The wind had opted for an extended vacation from his sails.

Amanda tip-toed down the stairs from their tiny apartment above the shop. Various candles lit with a poof as she walked by. At six, she was already in full control of her abilities, and her golden eyes had the same mesmerizing effect as her mothers. How he had ever come to earn the love of a woman such as Serena, he would never understand. But love him, she did. And he loved her too, just as desperately.

His daughter crept up beside him and gave him a warm kiss on his cheek. He turned and snuggled her, this most precious of lifes gifts. He put aside his still mostly empty diary, and reached for a larger, colourful book on the shelf beside him.

Opening it to the bookmarked page, he read, as Amanda cuddled up against his chest, one rebelious leg swinging in an imaginary rhythm. They often sat like this for hours, him reading, her listening. She would steal kisses, wrapping her tiny hands around his neck and holding on tight. She loved her father, strange as he was to this world, even though he was not, to her. Serena watched them quietly from the top of the stairs, smiling.

Their existence was simple. A loving family of three, purveyors of ancient books and imaginary worlds, relics from an age too far gone for anyone alive to remember otherwise. Serena, a woman of intense beauty, and consumate rage, should harm or ill will come to her family, or other innocents. Amanda, a smaller version of her mother, capable of reducing any thing to ash and cinder in the blink of an eye, yet delightful in her gentle way. And Derek, the only person since Transformation to have been born with no ability.

The light outside dimmed, as the Sun began to slide past the horizon.

Amanda yawned, slipping down from her fathers knee. He patted her head, and shooed her off to bed. Rising to lock the door and blow out the flickering candles, Derek paused to look out at the street. Soon, warm, lithe fingers skated across his back, as Serena edged closer to him, catching him off guard.

Sharing a tender kiss, Serena motioned with her head towards the stairs, and he nodded, sadness touching the edges of his smile. They walked upstairs, arm in arm, to tuck their daughter in.

The Old Man in the Rain

The wind was picking up again. He could smell it; the rain, heavy in the air. It would come soon enough, soaking the landscape in cold, weary wetness. No matter.  He was almost done. The long work She set Him out on, so many nights and days ago.

He paused, leaning on the oak stick, giving His aching knee some respite. He surveyed the long work. He had no particular understanding of why it was so important. She had been working on it long before He had come along. She had asked Him to finish it. She breathed. Then She didn’t.

So here He was. Finishing the work. He stooped to grab the twisted, colourful cable, and connected it to the covered conduit next to Him.

A single, greasy raindrop landed on the back of His rough, wrinkled hand. The rain was here. He turned the red circular dial, just as She’d shown Him. A low, growling hum began to build.

The white, whithering hairs on the back of His neck stood up. He reached for the board switch. Cautiously watching the imposing dark cloud rolling in over the valley, He flicked the switch.

And the World exploded in colour and light.