1st Draft Done

I'm quite pleased with myself this week. I finished the first draft of my novel last night. As I've mentioned before, I've finished a couple of other works that I thought would be novels when I started, but they didn't work out--didn't have a high enough word count and just didn't feel like novels. This one actually feels like a novel to me. It still needs a ton of work--I have quite a few notes about revisions I'd like to make--but I'm off to a good start.

After I get it all typed up into Word (the whole thing is written in longhand), I plan to put it away for a month to let me look at it with a fresh eye. In the meantime, I'll get back to short stories. Other than the #fridayflash stories I've worked on for the past month or so, I've neglected them since I started on the novel. I need to market those I have ready, polish up some I've written, and get started on some new ones. I also need to get my already published stories in a ebook format to sell in the Kindle Store (or where ever is best).

This has been exciting for me. I have no idea if this novel will ever end up selling, but I think the experience is making me a better author. That's all I have for you this week. I'll be back on Friday, of course, with another #fridayflash story. Until next time, keep reading and/or writing.

#fridayflash: Open the Box

OPEN THE BOX

Snerdlin snickered. He'd won. He hadn't done much, but he'd won. He picked up the jewel-encrusted metal box and shook it. No sound. That couldn't be right. Shouldn't a box this beautiful be filled with pretty things? It should be clanking with gold sounds.

"Put down the box! Snerdlin, do you hear me?"

Snerdlin clutched his prize to his chest and spun to face James, evil James. "No! Mine! I win fair and square."

"There's nothing in that box for you." James reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a bag. A clankity-clank bag. A gold-sounding bag.

"Gold?" Snerdlin asked.

James nodded. "Give me the box and the bag's yours."

Snerdlin almost threw the box down and ran for the gold, but his little brain churned. If James would give him gold for the box now, maybe if he made James wait, he'd get even more gold.

"What are you thinking about? Snerdlin, your brain isn't built for thinking."

Snerdlin clutched the box to his chest. "No! Me want more gold. Another pouch or I keep box."

James closed his eyes and said something Snerdlin couldn't hear. He readied himself to bolt even though he knew James could catch him. But his tiny brain reasoned that James might not because he would risk hurting the box. No, Snerdlin's brain said, right now you are in charge.

"More gold."

"I'll take it from you."

Snerdlin sneered and lifted the box above his head. "You no take. I break before you take."

James raised his eyebrows. "You want to break it? Fine, go ahead." He put the pouch of gold back in his jacket. "I don't care. In fact, why don't you open it up? I'll even let you have what's inside."

Snerdlin gently placed the box onto the ground. "Me open?"

"Yes, you can open it. But hurry. We don't have all day."

Snerdlin moved his hand to rip off the latch when he stopped. Why did James want him to have the box if he'd been willing to give him gold? James used trickery. Snerdlin hated trickery.

"You open."

James smiled. "Okay. If you insist."

Wait. More trickery.

"No! Snerdlin open."

"Would you make up your mind? You found it first, Snerdlin, so it's your box. But you need to do something before Trilix gets here. I'll either give you the pouch of gold, or I'll get a safe distance away while you open it."

Safe distance? "Safe distance?"

"Yeah. You don't expect me to be an innocent bystander if that thing is the deathtrap I think it might be?"

Deathtrap? "Why it be deathtrap?"

"It may or may not be. Legends are sketchy. So what are you going to do, Snerdlin?"

"No deathtrap. You open. Me want gold." Snerdlin waited for James to pull out the pouch of gold, and then he snuck over to make the exchange. Once the pouch was in his hands, he scampered away until he felt he'd gone far enough. He turned and watched.

James placed the box on the ground and unlatched it. He pulled the lid up and stared inside. At first nothing happened, but soon the box came to life. Smoke rose from its depths, then a roar erupted from its midst. James's mouth moved, but no words came out. A bright light shot up. It hurt Snerdlin's eyes, so he turned away until he was sure it had dimmed. When he turned back, the light was off, the lid closed, and James gone.

Snerdlin thought for a moment. James couldn't have gone. He'd have had to run past Snerdlin, and he didn't do that. James got sucked into the box, it had to be true. Good thing Snerdlin didn't open the box himself. And he sure wasn't going to open it now. The box could stay right there forever. He clutched his bag of gold and ran out before Trilix arrived.

Some Writing Tips

I've decided to occasionally post some tips that have helped me out in my writing. I hope by presenting these, they might help others. I don't profess to have come up with these tips, but I feel they're important enough to pass along. Without further ado, here are my first few writing tips.

--Sit down and write. In theory, this is the simplest rule of all. Otherwise, how would you ever get any words down? How would you ever finish your story? This can be, though, one of the hardest things for some writers to do. It's daunting to realize you need to pour your soul out on the page. A writer needs to get over that, however, and get the words on the page. Sit down, pick up your pen (or open your word processor), and start writing. Whether you have an outline or not is irrelevant for this tip. Get the words down!

--Don't forget to freewrite liberally. Freewriting can be used in a number of different ways. If you need to get into a rhythm and flow before you start on your day's work, freewrite until you're ready. If you're stuck in a tricky scene, freewrite possible solutions. If you don't know what sort of story you want to start on next, freewrite ideas. In all of these exercises, and more, freewriting will help focus your writing.

--My last tip for today is a bit quirky. I've recently discovered this one works for me. If I'm writing a story or scene in my novel, I sometimes get stuck even though I know what comes next. How do I say it? Why doesn't it come out the way I want? If I pick up a pen with different color ink (I'm one of those strange people who still writes longhand), for some reason it jars my brain and the words flow again. You can try this in your word processor, too. Try writing the next few paragraphs in a different font or color. I'm guessing the change of appearance on the otherwise bland page (esthetically, of course, not your word choice) brings a feeling of fun to your brain. (Don't forget to go back and change the font and color to your story's default!) Whatever the reason, it works for me, and it just might work for you.

There you go, three tips on helping you write. I wouldn't share these with you if they didn't work for me, so I hope they help. I'll bring some more tips up in future posts. Until next time, keep reading and/or writing.

Latest Published Story--Three Seconds

My latest short story was published tonight. This one is a podcast, a first for me, so that was neat. It's also a young adult story, another first. The podcast is called "YA Literature Review." You can find it in two places: first on their website here: Three Seconds or on iTunes. Search "YA Literature Review" and download "Story Corner: Three Seconds."

I hope you enjoy the story, and please let me know what you think. I'd love to hear any comments you might have!

#fridayflash--One Rainy Day

ONE RAINY DAY

Larry walked through the dark streets of Dillington with a briefcase in his left hand and an umbrella in his right. The rain hadn't started yet, but by the looks of the sky, it wouldn't be long. Besides, ol' Chuck Golightly of the Channel 10 News predicted a doosy of a storm. If Larry could make the bus stop before the downpour, he'd count himself lucky for the first time in a long, long time.

"Hey, buddy, spare a couple of bucks?"

A bum stood in a nearby alleyway. He was the stereotypical homeless guy, complete with a bottle of booze in a paper sack. Larry could smell him from ten feet away.

"A couple of bucks, buddy?" the guy asked again.

"Sorry, that's all I have, and I need it for the bus. I'm . . . never mind. Sorry."

"You're what? You were going to say you weren't doing so well, but then you saw me. Am I right?"

Larry gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah, something like that."

The bum smiled. "What would you say if I told you I could fix all your problems?"

"I'd say I don't believe you. No offense."

The bum chuckled. "None taken. I like you. You seem like a decent guy." His face grew serious. "But what if I insisted I have that power?"

Where this was going? He'd seen movies and read books where bums turned out to be billionaires and were just testing people, but this couldn't be that. Could it?

"Follow me. What did you say your name was?"

"Larry. Larry Brantz. What's yours?"

"Call me Mac. Everyone does."

Mac led Larry into the alleyway. This wasn't like him, but there was something about this bum, this Mac. Hell, as bad as things were going, he might as well see this through. Light at the end of the tunnel and all that.

Mac stopped at the chain-link fence that ended the alley. He dropped the paper sack to the ground but held on to the bottle. It looked like an ordinary vodka bottle.

"You're going to think this is crazy," Mac said, "but this is a magic bottle. When I break it, all your problems will drain away."

"Yeah, that does sound crazy."

Mac smiled. "Watch." He held the bottle by its neck and smashed it against a nearby dumpster. It cracked like a gunshot, but neither man jumped. When Mac held up the now broken bottle, nothing happened.

"Well?" Larry said.

Mac brought a finger to his lips. "Patience, Larry. The magic takes a few seconds."

A raindrop hit Larry on the top of his head, and he rolled his eyes. Why had he been so gullible? Instead of having his problems solved, he was going to get soaked. And he'd probably miss the bus to boot. Mary would be pissed when he walked in an hour late. Just what his marriage needed.

"Here it comes," Mac said. "Watch."

Larry did. Mac jammed the jagged bottle into Larry's stomach. Larry gasped and fell to his knees. Pain shot through his entire body. Mac let out a maniacal laugh and jabbed him a second time. So much blood leaked from the wounds that he could hear it dripping on the ground along with the scattered raindrops. Mac walked behind him and shoved him face-first onto the pavement.

As the bum ran off with his briefcase, umbrella, and wallet, Larry smiled. He couldn't call Mac a liar. It might not be a million dollars, but in a minute or two, Larry Brantz would never have another worry.

My Writing Process Pt. 2

Last week I gave insight into how I am working on my newest work as a whole, but I thought this week some of you might be interested in seeing how I write on a daily basis.

I make it a priority to write six times a week, and usually I do seven. Sometimes that seventh day is maybe a hundred words, but as long as something is on paper, I view it as a good day. The other six days, I require a few pages, not just paragraphs. And I say pages, not 500 or 1000 words, because I write longhand. I often get sneered at when I say this (or sometimes people will tell me in a hushed voice like I might not know that I can write directly into the computer), but I enjoy the process of writing with a pen and paper. I also like the quick editing I can do when I get around to entering my pages into the computer. It's not an official revision step, but it's a helpful part of the process for me. Will I continue to do this? Probably not for my next novel attempt, but maybe I'll go into the reasons for that in a future post. I'll never give up on the pen and paper approach fully, though.

When I sit down, the first thing I do is pick up a "how to write" book. It doesn't matter which one I'm reading at the time, and I have plenty to choose from (as I'm sure most writers do). I'll read a couple of pages of that and set it aside. I might also read an article in Writer's Digest if I still haven't finished the latest issue. This ritual gets me thinking about writing, which is an important step in getting started.

To be honest, the first 15 to 20 minutes don't usually go very smooth. Even though I'm in the writing mode, it's still not usually easy to kick-start the process. I don't usually get many words on the page at this point, but as long as I'm staring at the page, writing thoughts are going through my head. After this initial struggle, however, the words usually start to flow. As you all know, some days are better than others, but as long as I stick to it at my desk, I'll get my page count without too much trouble.

What do I do when I hit my goal? Depends on the day, and how the session went. Sometimes I can breeze through in an hour, and I may stick with it and keep working. Other days can be a struggle, so once the goal is hit, I stop at a good spot and leave it for the next day.

There you have it. My method isn't glamorous or ground-breaking, but works for me. As I said last week, I know many writers like to see how others go about their business, so that's your peak into my typical writing sessions. I'd love to hear any comments you might have about it, or how you structure your own time. Until next time, keep reading and/or writing!

#fridayflash -- Uncle Ron

UNCLE RON

We arrived in New York Harbor on Mars in 2382 (Western Earth Years). We saw the faux Statue of Liberty in front of the spaceport and joked that we were like the immigrants to America back on Earth hundreds of years ago. After landing, we scoured our map and determined how to get to our housing district.

All except Uncle Ron, who seemed a bit distracted.

Next, we headed over to the transport center. We chatted about whether to take the aero-taxi or the land-roving bus. Both would be fun and give us a neat perspective of our new homeworld. Grandma Dakota, only half-joking, suggested we do one, then come back right away to try the other. If we hadn't been so eager to get settled, we might have done just that. We decided to choose one now. We could come back another day.

I think I was the only one that noticed Uncle Ron, who normally dominated conversations like this, stayed quiet.

The moving hallway took us from the terminal to the Intra-Planetary Transportation Center. I marveled at the vision screens. Instead of windows, the walls were lined with monitors that made it seem as if we were on uncovered walkways on the surface of the planet. With oxygen, of course. There were plans to add atmospheric effects to create illusions of scents, breezes, and other goodies. I looked at Uncle Ron, figuring he'd be thrilled, but he looked lost in thought.

Once at the Intra-Planetary Transportation Center, we decided on the aero-taxi. What better way to get acquainted with our new neighborhood and home than with a birds-eye view? The porter on duty informed us that we'd need to take two cabs. Each taxi had seats enough for only five, and we had six. Uncle Ron spoke up for the first time since landing and told the porter to hail just one. He wanted to look around a bit longer, and he'd catch up with us later. Everyone said that sounded great. No one thought it strange since it was just Ron being Ron.

Except me. Something was up. He hadn't been himself since we landed. No, that wasn't true. He hadn't been himself since the bottom of the space elevator in New Vegas. I loved and trusted my Uncle Ron, though, so I didn't say anything.

The aero-taxi would have been a neat ride if I hadn't been so preoccupied. Mom, Dad, Grandma Dakota, and Grandpa Drake all marveled at the sights, but I couldn't. The ride took forever, and I could only hope there was a message from Uncle Ron waiting for us.

Turns out I was right. I listened to his message twice, not bothering to check out my new living space, my new home. Uncle Ron had caught a flight to one of the moons of Saturn, where a new colony had just started up. After that, he'd heard of an experimental hyperspace jump that he'd like to be a part of. He promised to be in touch no matter what, but I knew we'd never hear from him again. I think the rest of the family knew it, too, but no one else seemed upset. They went on unpacking and making this new dwelling home. After all, it was just Ron being Ron.

END

This one is a bit more "slice of life" than story, but I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. Uncle Ron seems like quite a character, and while I didn't explore him too much in this story, I may need to do so in the future. Sounds like he's in for some real adventures. Anyway, thank you for reading, and please leave a comment. I'd love to know what you think!

My Writing Process

I've stated before here in my blog that I've noticed many writers obsessed with how others work. They want to compare their practices with others to see if they are on the right track. While writers need to just sit down and get their own work done, I believe it is helpful at times, especially when you feel you're in a rut, to peek into the writing lives of others. For this reason, I will give a quick look at my own writing process on my newest work in progress. Maybe it'll give some of you ideas of how you can get your own work done, or it might just fuel your voyeuristic pleasure. Either way, I'm happy with however it helps.

I start by taking some time to write out random ideas about the story to get it solidified in my mind. I think briefly about who the characters should be and write that down. After that, I write down ten or so brief scenes that will be used throughout the book. This gives me a rough outline, which grows bigger as I connect the dots, so to speak. I keep the descriptions of these scenes brief, on one 3x5 card for each. Of course some of the scenes may take multiple chapters to complete, but they're still brief on the card. I don't do much to flesh out the characters at this point--no bio, no card. I jot down notes when I think about things I need to know about them. Instead, I think it's more important to get to know the characters during the draft. The revision and rewriting stage is where I will flesh them out and make it look like the story started with just the characters instead of plot.

When I have my scenes on my cards, I put them in the order that I believe they go in and start writing. I feel this is a good balance between free-writing the first draft (sometimes referred to as "pantsing" as in writing from the seat of your pants), and working from an outline. It gives me freedom to explore my story and world while having a solid foundation to be anchored in. Plus, if I choose a different route than I'd originally envisioned in the outline, it's easy to make up new cards and set aside the old ones that no longer fit.

As I write, I keep plenty of notes for various reasons. Since I've just created a small outline, I need to make things up as I go. When I do create new rules, characters, or whatever, I jot those down so I don't have to search through many pages later to remember what I'd done--place names, character names, character traits, etc. I also make notes about revision ideas I have. I feel it's counterproductive to go back and fix already written work when I know I'll be changing things in my revision/rewriting stage anyway. It's more important to get that first draft done, so a quick note about what I want to change works much better for me.

That's really all there is to it for me. The main part of getting the first draft done is simply sitting down and putting words on the page. My simple outline gives me the freedom to enjoy the writing and creating process. Let me know what you think about my writing process, and feel free to share your own. Until next time, keep reading and/or writing!

#fridayflash--When He Comes Calling

WHEN HE COMES CALLING

Another Day almost done. Reggie sat in front of the TV with his dinner--a microwave burrito and a handful of cheese twists. How had he survived without Margaret? She'd been gone for almost a year now, and though people said he'd adjust, he hadn't. In their forty-six years together, Margaret had been his everything, his entire life. Without her he was just going through the motions, and he wasn't sure he wanted to do that anymore.

As he took a bite of his bean and cheese burrito, the doorbell rang. "Who's that?" he muttered. No one had come to visit since Margaret's funeral. Reggie pushed himself up and shuffled towards the front door.

The bell rang again. "I'm moving as fast as I'm gonna." When he opened the door, a man, probably in his mid-thirties, stood on the porch. He wore a three-piece suit, carried an attache case, and had salesman written all over him.

"Hello, Reginald," the man said. "How are you feeling today?"

Reggie scrutinized the man a bit more. Nope, didn't recognize him. "Who are you?"

"This visit isn't about me, Reginald. How are you today?"

"I'm tired, I hurt, and I miss the hell out of my wife."

"Which is why I'm here." The man walked past Reggie into the house. Reggie wasn't much for strangers, but for some reason he didn't protest.

"Been hard without Margaret, hasn't it?" The man looked over at Reggie's TV tray. "Dinner certainly was better."

"It was, but I like microwave burritos. You still haven't stated your name or your business."

The man sat down on the couch next to Reggie's dinner and helped himself to a cheese twist. As he ate it, he looked like he would choke, but managed to swallow. "Honestly, I don't know how you people survive on this . . . this junk you consider food. Just the thought of eating here makes me glad I can head home for meals."

"You don't need to bad-mouth my supper," Reggie said. "I never did offer you any."

"I apologize, Reginald. I meant no offense."

"It's okay. You ain't told me your name or your business, so I won't bother askin' where you're from."

"You'll find out in due time, Reginald. Just be patient. Why don't you finish your dinner?"

The stranger stood up to give Reggie room to sit. Reggie hadn't realized how famished he was. He hadn't been this hungry since before Margaret got sick. He took a big bite from his burrito and chewed slowly.

"It may not be Margaret's special meatloaf, but it does have its charm." He placed a cheese twist in his mouth and grimaced. "You're right about these, though. Teach me to save a few cents on a cheap brand."

The stranger chuckled. "Where you're going, they're all name brands."

Reggie sat back in the couch and folded his hands behind his head. "I don't know why you think I'm going with you. I don't understand why I even let you in."

The stranger took a seat in the easy chair next to the couch. "You're lonely."

"And where exactly do you think you're taking me?"

"I can promise you this, Reginald: you'll have so many friends, you'll never be lonely again. And the food." The man licked his lips. "As I've said, it's far better than anything you can get here."

"So it's your hometown, eh? And when did you think you'd get me to leave?"

The stranger stood up. "Why, Reginald, we've already left."

"What?" Reggie leapt to his feet--far faster than he had in the past fifteen years--and knocked his TV tray over. He didn't watch his dinner splat on the carpet; he'd already turned his attention to the stranger.

"See for yourself." The man made a motion with his arm towards the couch, and when Reggie's eyes followed, he saw himself lying rigid. The TV tray indeed lay toppled over, and his burrito and chips scattered across the rug. Boy, Margaret would've reamed him good for that. He glanced over to the hallway, but in its place was a wall of bright light.

"Step in, Reginald. They're all waiting for you. Especially Margaret. You're all she can talk about."

"Margaret." Reggie didn't look back as he passed through the light. In seconds, the stranger heard terrified scrams, and he chuckled. "They always think I'm offering heaven." With a puff of smoke, he vanished.

END

I hope you enjoyed my second foray into #fridayflash. I'd be thrilled if you took the time to leave comments on this story. Thanks for reading!

2 Short Stories

Since my blog post this week was sort of self-serving (sometimes it needs to be done, right?), I figured I'd make a second post this week highlighting a couple of short stories not written by me.

The first is called Nemo and Kafka Balance the Books, and it is from the August 15, 2009 issue of The Absent Willow Review. It is a strange tale of bureaucracy where people are scheduled to die. If they don't meet their appointed time, someone else is chosen to die for them. Nemo must save a young child when an old man can't figure out a way to meet his end.

The next comes from the podcast Pseudopod. It is called Front Row Seats by Scott William Carter. It is about a recently widowed man who finds movies to be a great escape from his pain. That is until he notices a strange old man who visits many of the same movies as him. You can also download this one on iTunes. It's listed as Pseudopod #107.

My List of Published Stories

I decided, in honor of my short story which was published earlier this week, I'd create a blog post this week to showcase my writing. More specifically, a post that lists all of my published work that can be found online. I hope you enjoy looking through these stories, and I would love to read your comments on one or more of them. Enjoy!
(I have plenty of others which have been published online, but the places they were published - be it the page to the story itself or the online 'zine - no longer exist.)

The Girl on the Wall: This is from the webzine, The Were-Traveler. This issue's title was The Realms of Death, so you can probably guess death was the theme of the issue, and my story, obviously.

Reese Copy Company :  This is from the website thewifiles.com. It's a ghostly horror story about a man who has a strange run-in with a copy machine in an abandoned warehouse.

Special Order : This one is available in the Fantasy section of the e-zine short-story.me. It's a modern fantasy/horror tale that takes place in a restaurant that offers unique menu items.

Weeds and Dead Flowers : This one appeared on the website, Escape into Life in April 2011. It's a horror story about a woman finding three young girls in a local graveyard.

The Highest Stakes (Find the Audio Version here) : This one won a writing challenge posted to me by Neil Colquhoun. He challenged me to write a story about all of the numbers on a roulette wheel adding up to 666. He wrote one, too, and put up a poll for people to vote. My story won, and Neil rewarded me by podcasting it. Give it a listen. Neil did a great job with the read!

Twelve Drummers Drumming : This appeared on Christmas Day in the online anthology, 12 Days 2010. This story shows how Santa recruits his elves.

The Clown Killer : This one appeared as the Halloween Day post of the 13 Days of Horror, the 13th story. An amateur ghost hunter eggs on a dangerous ghost...with disastrous consequences.

The Eye : This one appeared in the Special Halloween edition of Dark Movements. Something weird is going on in the house across the street. The problem is no one believes it but him.

Trapped Under Ice : This one is on the Tuesday, July 20th blog post of At the Bijou. It at first appears to be just a horrible bit of bad luck, but you'll have to read through to the end to see if it stays that way.

Fast Food Zombies : This one appears in the March 2010 issue of Aphelion Magazine. Just as the title suggests, it's about humongous zombies who terrorize fast food joints, and one college students adventure in escaping an attack.

The Pit : This St. Patrick's Day horror story is available in the UnLuck of the Irish Anthology on page 18. It's a short story about a man who's trapped after chasing something--something he doesn't even know about.

Between the Strobes : This flash fiction story is in Deadly Love, Be Mine Valentine's Day Anthology on page 20. It's different from my other stories in that I wrote it in 2nd person POV. I normally don't like to write in this style because I don't usually like to read 2nd person stories. It worked for this one, though, and I hope you agree with me.

The Bird : This flash fiction story was published in the January 5th edition of The New Flesh. It's a horror story about a very strange bird who terrorizes a mother and her daughter. Or does it?

Scream Time : This flash fiction horror story was published in the ezine, The New Flesh. It's a horror story about how a newly-reinstated tradition at a college goes terribly wrong for one girl.

Find the Flag : This comes from Dark Fire Fiction. It's a horror story about a group of teen age boys who play a capture the flag type game in an abandoned mansion.

Three Seconds : This one is a young adult story about the last few seconds of a high school football game. It's special because it's a podcast story, so you'll need speakers to "read" it. If you'd prefer to listen to it on iTunes, search "YA Literature Review" and download "Story Corner: Three Seconds." One funny thing about this piece is that the name I give the main character's school was a made up high school when I wrote it, but it became an actual one this year. Funny coincidence!

Village of the Dragons : This one is pure fantasy. It has a bard, a wizard, a dragon, and a young boy who learns he has magical powers, all set in a fantasy setting. I'm proud of all my stories, but I really like this one.

Red Rose on White : This is probably the only story I've had published that you could classify as "mainstream" or "contemporary" or whatever non-genre label you want to put on it. It's a simple story about a quilt square. And imagination.

Children of the Mall : This one is a ghost story. I wrote it to just be a goofy little story, more comedy than horrific events, but I suppose if you really look at the characters it is a pretty depressing story. I had fun writing this one. I guess that speaks volumes about me, huh?

The Door to Nothing : This one never says what genre it belongs to, just that it is a work of speculative fiction. You can decide for yourself whether it is fantasy, science fiction, or something else. I enjoy writing stories that, while they have a beginning, middle, and end (at least I hope), are very ambiguous and let the reader decide for themselves what is going on. I make sure when I write such stories they are very short, like this one, because it's not fair to make a reader comb through thousands of words to end up with ambiguity. With a quick story (usually referred to as flash fiction), though, I think it's fun.

1-800-FUN-TALK : This comes from the February 2008 issue of Down in the Dirt. This one is a horror story about a woman who tries a party line for the first time.

Battle Scars : This comes from the November 2007 issue of Down in the Dirt. It is a science fiction tale about a clone with a soul all his own.

Soul Traveler : This comes from the January 2007 issue of Down in the Dirt. It's about a man who is given a chance to explore the universe, but he must give up his life on Earth.

I also placed 5th in a Halloween writing contest on a Twitter horror-zine called Tweet the Meat. I don't believe there is a link to the story, but I'll just print it here, since it is only 13 words: "She grinned and hummed along with her favorite tune: bonesaw with no anesthesia."

There you go. I do have a number of others that have been published, but one is in a print magazine, and the others no longer exists online. I hope you enjoy reading through these stories that are still available, and please leave me some comments. I'd love to hear what you think. Until next time, keep reading and/or writing.

Newest Short Story: The Breath of Life

I had a new short story come out today in Allegory Magazine. You can view it here: The Breath of Life. Leave me a comment about what you think. Thanks!