Sunday, July 25, 2010

"The Miracle of Birth" is Crowning

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Since you've all been pestering me about the next chapter, I am glad to let you know it is now posted. While the schedule is not up to me, it looks like the good folks at KillingBoxx are releasing the chapters a week apart. That may change, of course, at their discretion, so just keep checking back whenever you get a chance. There are nine chapters in total, so there's plenty of creepy goodness to come.

For now...

The Miracle of Birth - Chapter 2

He'd never had a real relationship. He could count his friends on no hands. His mother and father were ghosts. They had abandoned him at a young age, left little Roger to toughen up on his own, learn to cope or be eaten alive by the world and all its harsh realities. His coping mechanism was isolation. Seclusion. These things he could control. Dora he could control.

This, the inhuman thing squirming inside Dora's gut, he could not control.

Roger fled, slammed the bedroom door, and for some unexplainable reason, locked it from the outside. Read More...

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Locked In The KillingBoxx

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Just a quick update to let you all know that the first chapter of my story THE MIRACLE OF BIRTH is now live at, a very cool site dedicated to horror and all things grim. I'm also their featured artist for the week. Check out the story at the link below, and have a look around the KillingBoxx.

The Miracle of Birth - Chapter 1
One good thing Roger could say about Dora was that her skin was still just as soft and smooth as the day she'd shown up on his doorstep all those years ago.

That was about it.

Sure, her breasts were still pert, ass still tight. Nothing had sagged, which was as it should be. He'd paid a pretty penny for her.

Though they had been married (common law, anyway) for well on ten years, Roger and Dora didn't speak much. In fact, she couldn't even really speak English; that was part of the reason why she'd appealed to him in the first place. Roger's extreme social phobias and anxieties relegated him to a hermetic life, barely making it by writing various web-based reviews, puff pieces mostly, that deciphered the hidden morals of classic films. First-year college essay stuff. It wasn't much, but it was a living. As for Dora, well . . . she didn't work – couldn't work – and was pretty much useless when it came to things like household chores. Read More...

Thursday, July 15, 2010

What Do You Want To Be?

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At the risk of turning this into some feel-good, look-at-the-clouds, happy pappy, Tony Robbins bullshit, I have some things that need to come off the chest. And since this is my blog, I'm going to selfishly use all of you as my soundboard.

First, a couple of questions:

1. What did you want to be when you grew up?
2. What are you now?

I wanted to be a musician, a writer, a martial arts instructor - all things that I pursue to this day. Sometimes reality (that petulant bitch) threatens to drown passion, and I tend to get rather ornery when that happens. Focus is not completely lost right now, though I admit it might be a red c-hair scattered. It has actually been a pretty good year on the writing front. 2010 has seen me co-write a film that is currently in production. I've finished a final draft of my second novel, nearly completed a first draft of the next. There have been public readings and short stories published, increased visibility, and I dive full-bore into an MFA program at the end of this month. Can't complain, really.

Yet, I do.

Like many (most) writers/artists/musicians, I'm forced to maintain a "real" and "respectable" job. This "real" and "respectable" job was definitely not what I wanted to do when I grew up.

The Dead Weather, the most recent pet project of musical genius Jack White (a man who doesn't seem to know the words rest and laurels), played last night in Boston. Besides being an incredible live band with a truckload of stage presence, they got me thinking about how music, film, literature, and entertainment in general, affects people. For me (like so many others), the arts help relieve those daily stresses we're all forced to confront, but they also remind me that there is large contingent of dedicated souls who had a vision or an idea, and they fight with everything they have to see these things through to fruition. They are persistent, sometimes stubbornly so, and don't give up when their detractors spout off about how many obstacles they'll face, how the odds are stacked against them, or how it will never happen.

Everyone has heard of the mystical "right place at the right time." The detractors will tell you it is damn near impossible to have those two ideals meet, that the very fucking stars have to align for this to occur. I don't buy it and neither should you. The right time will come eventually, but it's our own responsibility to put ourselves in the right place.

In short, do what you want to do. Be who you want to be. As every disgruntled generation says, don't let the bastards get you down.

Maybe this is more a reminder to myself than anyone else.

And go see The Dead Weather in concert. They'll rock your face off.