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Day-Off Drivel VIII:  Recipe for Dysfunction

3/29/2015

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News Update:  I held two contests this weekend.  One was for those who had already liked my Facebook author page, offering free e-copies of One for the Road, Two Before Dawn, and Little Ones of Wood & Hair.  The other contest challenged 20 of my FB friends to like the page, and I would announce a lucky winner to receive a free copy of Two Before Dawn...Oh, and I said I'd cut my hair too. 

The 1st and 2nd place winners of the first contest are:  Christina Poore and Mark Depalma.  The other contest winner is Scott Wright.  Thanks for playing everyone!  Enjoy the goods!
Recipe for Dysfunction
The totem pole stood there, struggling not to crumble under the weight of its disproportioned parts.  The structure stood five heads tall.  Against The Creator’s orders, one of the heads moved the other pieces around resulting in a gradual erosion of the once solid unit.  The foundation piece was clueless as to being moved,  so it was disheartening to hear their conversation.  

“I’ve been trying to figure out our demise, and it’s puzzling.  We are ending and I feel responsible.  I do not understand,” the Foundation piece spoke. 

“I moved us around.  I didn’t want the smaller ones taking on all the bird feces and rain.  You deal with it.  You’re the bigger one,” said the Mover piece.

“What do you mean you moved us around?  We cannot stand.  The creator gave specific instructions on how to withstand the elements against us.”

“Our circumstances are different, and The Creator’s instructions do not make sense considering.”

“You’ve no faith in The Creator?”

“Yes, I do.  But as I said, our circumstances call for me to decide what is best.  There is too much precipitation here.  And we are near the beach—mere blocks from city dumpsters.  The seagull’s domain.  They have no mercy on the little ones.  The Creator would not expect the little ones to take on such a mess.” 

“You are not aware of our demise, are you?”

The Mover became angry.  “You sat and did nothing but stay safely on the ground.  I have looked out for us.  I have taken action!”

“You have caused damage,” the Foundation declared.  “I have sat here, because, though I see life is difficult for the little ones, I trust The Creator’s design.  A design that makes little sense to our limited comprehension, but it works for the other totems that trust.  Does The Creator not know best?”

“The rain…the seagulls!  We are different!” the Mover’s anger escalated.

“You are ignorant and are blinded by pride and arrogance.  You trust your own limited understanding.  Look here at me.  I am polished.  There is no blemish from dung upon me, yet you’ve moved me to the top.”

The Mover piece looked at the Foundation in astonishment.  It was true.  There was no sign of wear from the elements or birds.

“Now look at the little ones below.  Look at the results of your plan; of your lack of faith.”

The Mover looked and saw the little ones had sunk into the ground.  They were muddied and covered in dung that the rain had washed down the pole over the years.  Their eyes were coated in the bird feces, so they were unable to see clearly.  They stood crooked, unsure which way to face.  The Mover noticed the entire structure was cracked due to the imbalance.  It was clear at once that the totem would soon crumble due to the Mover’s decisions.  The bottom little one could not hold the weight of them all but could no longer be moved.  The weight had pushed it much too deep into the ground, with the others following. 

The Creator’s design became clear, but the damage irreparable.    

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An Attitude of Gratitude:  Why My Writing Peers Are Awesome

3/27/2015

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Having only been actively writing and seeking publication since last spring, I have a lot to learn.  However, I have learned a ridiculous amount of what to and what not to do just in these past several months.  But something I really didn't anticipate was the tremendous support from my peers.  People I have known less than a year.  I touched on this a little bit in my last entry.  Even some of my friends (and sadly, relatives) fail to encourage or even so much as acknowledge what I'm trying to accomplish.  So to get so much love and support from strangers was indeed surprising.

Perhaps the support comes from my fellow authors understanding the struggle.  They understand the importance of spreading the word, leaving reviews, providing feedback, receiving encouragement, being helped with opening doors and pushing your foot in there.  I have found--at least from my experience, thus far--that the writing world isn't a pissing contest or a shoving match.   

When I asked for blurbs for my upcoming book, every person I asked who is in the field happily obliged and, after reading some of the content from the book, gave me some head-swelling praise.  My peers have happily shared my work at the same time they're promoting their own.  They have included me.  They have taken the time to read my stories and tell me how much they like them.  They have trusted me to proofread and edit.  But most of all they have made me feel like part of a team and not alone. 

For this entry I'm not going to name drop, mainly because there are just too many.  I'll have a gratitude list in Night as a Catalyst.  For now, in general, thank you to my writer/editor/publisher friends. 

News Update:  Freelance and nonfiction work has been taking up a bit of my time due to this silly thing called money that we all have a love/hate relationship with, so my fiction muscle hasn't had a good workout in a few weeks.  That being said, here's a review I did for Halloweenforever.com for the new TV show, iZombie! 

I love hearing from you so feel free to comment.  I'll read it.  I will smile.  I'll respond.  You'll smile.  It's a win/win!
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Day-Off Drivel VII, Shout Outs, and News:  Male Pattern Badness

3/22/2015

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First the news.  Then the drivel. 

Initially, I wanted to post at least two pieces of "drivel" on the weekend, but lately I've only had time for one.  An article I've been stressing out over is done and has been sent in with only a day to spare for the deadline.  This month alone has seen a handful of rejection letters, but I don't consider this a bad thing.  At least it means I'm writing.  And I'm trying.  

I wanted to take advantage of this particular entry to give a few shout outs to some friends who have new books released--people who have helped support me, shared, and even opened doors:

*My friend Dan Padavona co-wrote a dark fantasy book with horror author J. Thorn, and their book Shadow Witch is available now on Amazon.  It's been deemed Game of Thrones meets The Blair Witch.  Sounds good to me!

*March 27th will see the release of Terry M. West's novel, Dreg for the Kindle.  Or you can get the paperback version right now.  Right here.  Terry is a newly discovered author for me and one of my current faves.  You can check out a very interesting bit of trivia concerning Terry's new book here. 

*James Ferace creeps me out.  I don't know if it's his dark hair and sinister eyes or his story concepts and book covers, but he has a new ebook, Chaos Engine, that you can grab here.  He says he doesn't write horror.  Then I remind him sarcastically that yeah, neither does Cronenberg and Lynch. 

Later in the week I plan on writing an entry concerning the support and kindness I've witnessed and received from those in the writing world.  Something I didn't anticipate, though I had no expectations either way.  The above authors are a part of what makes what I've been doing so special; so certainly a big thank you to them for being a light in a dark world.

Also, for those interested in my opinion on the movie treatment for Richard Matheson's I Am Legend in the Vincent Price film, The Last Man on Earth, you can read it here at Halloweenforevermore.

Now for some drivel! 


Male Pattern Badness

“I’ve been growing your hair for years and you go and do this!”  The man said to his young, impressionable wife.  “You look like a boy!”

With her hair freshly cut short, she stood and cried against the chain link fence while her new stepson stood idly by.  Contemplating her situation.  Judging her hair, yet sympathizing.  A large dog stood by her side as though providing a shoulder, or some good advice.

Any flies on the wall certainly labeled the man possessive; abusive even.  His dream hair for her had been ruined courtesy of her personal freedom.  Years later they would divorce, but for now they would wade through four more years mud.  Four years of rebellious haircutting and retaliatory name calling. 

It had seemed unfair to receive such a verbal beating.  However, the man wasn’t entirely wrong.  With her checkerboard work shirt and rosy cheeks, she did resemble a boy—a Sunday school claymation boy to be
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I love hearing from you.  Leave a comment.  I'll smile.  You'll smile.  We'll be friends!  Sneak your email addy into the box above on your right and answer the verification email and you'll be blessed with periodic blog updates.
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Day-Off Drivel VI:  El Freezes Over

3/15/2015

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Not much time to indulge in the typing of entertaining wit and wisdom, so I'll leave you with a little bit of drivel I wrote last week.  Enjoy:

El Freezes Over
The neighbor’s house screamed Texas with its bleach-white bull skull resting against the brick exterior, surrounded in a wreath of earthy potpourri.  The lawn void of any grass, save for the occasional brown tuft sticking out like fur on week-old roadkill.  The skull, while not inviting for a tourist, no doubt embraced the natives like a welcome mat.  A BBQ grill, only feet away, added to the stereotype.   This was El Paso after all.  

But it wasn’t the neighbor’s deathly decor that stood out on the street but the cryogenics lab in the driveway next door.  That was the main attraction.  Like a metal coffin for two, it sat raised on bricks.  Crooked PVC ran from the box into the house like chaotic plumbing from a Dr. Seuss world.  The neighbors didn’t seem to mind.  They’d bar each window from potential criminals, but no harm done with a chilled stiff in the driveway down the street.  They were too busy planting evergreens in their dirt laden lawns, putting some color into the wasteland. 

I seemed to be the only one unaffected by the heat, whose ability to observe the abnormal was still intact.

Bodies were being frozen right there on their street and no one noticed. 


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Little Ones of Wood & Hair (double feature collection II) released!

3/13/2015

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Today is the release of my second double feature collection, "Little Ones of Wood & Hair."  It's a collection of two stories and one poem all with a doll theme.  It is available on Amazon exclusively as an ebook.  Also, you can now get my first double feature collection, Two Before Dawn, FREE for two days only.  Whether you want to read it or not, know that each download helps me tremendously.  Thank you for your support.  If you find that you enjoy either of these (and I have every confidence you will) please consider leaving a rating or quick little review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. 

Check out the promotional video for Little Ones of Wood & Hair here!

Have a great weekend and happy reading! 

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Day-Off Drivel V:  Safety First

3/8/2015

6 Comments

 
Yup...I haven't blogged all week.  I've been busy proofreading, reading, pitching, searching, critiquing, editing, finalizing, emailing, and creating a surprise for this Friday, which happens to be the 13th.  Actually, I may as well just tell you.  This coming Friday will see the release of "Little Ones of Wood & Hair," book II in my double feature collection.  But first, here's this weekend's drivel, courtesy of life experiences and observations:



Facing a Wasteland

You knew painting your door red would show the world how mad you were; that painting your lawn with the blue petunias would show the world how sad you were.  And though you’d never let us see you, the dolls in your windows and your stone garden figurines told tales of your loneliness.  Keep your curtains closed and your bricks stacked tight.  It’s a mad, wild world.

Fork in the Road
It wasn’t a busy street.  But what few cars there were, made up for it in speed.  They were all in a rush to get from one cornfield to the next, or to race through the scent of country manure.    

Two boys rode their bikes along the road in the dirt, nearly touching the edge of the asphalt with their thin 10-speed tires.  The boy in the rear looked behind to watch as an approaching car passed, while his younger friend hit the brakes in front of him.  The older boy’s bike lodged impossibly into the back gears of his friend, launching the rear boy forward in a messy attempt at a forward flip.  While in mid air, momentum petered out and the boy and bike tipped sideways, crashing on the road, barely missing contact with the passing car.  The bike’s forks, now bent in opposite directions, rendered the bike useless.  

The boy was kept safe from the cornfield chaser.  Years later he’d be hit by a car.  But not today.  Not on this street.

News Update:  I have recently found myself on the Famous Monsters of Filmland writer list, and last weekend I sent a pitch that they liked and have given me the go ahead to write a lengthy article.  I'll be working hard on this in the next few weeks.  In a future blog, I will write about just how much this means to me, but for now I'll just boast.

Now Reading: 
The Night is Long and Cold and Deep - Terry M. West
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Day-Off Drivel IV:  The Last In Line 

3/1/2015

4 Comments

 
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 As I'm reading an early draft of author Dan Padavona's upcoming book, I thought it  appropriate to dedicate this week's Day-Off Drivel flash to his father, Ronnie James Dio.  Enjoy!  

The Last in Line
Three hours of standing in line had gone by, when the boy’s dad’s wife (it was hard to think of her as his stepmom with only a decade between them) showed up with 40-oz bottles of Schlitz Malt Liquor.  His favorite since the age of 12—four years ago.  Getting buzzed helped the time pass.  The line was made up of hair, denim, and leather and smelled of grass and testosterone.  Headbangers from all over gathered to meet the voice of heavy metal, Ronnie James Dio.  

Another hour went by before the line finally took them inside the record store.  The walls were adorned with the announcement of the Dio meet-and-greet.  As the line sluggishly moved, the boy could now see his idol sitting behind a table—leaving his signature on posters, photographs, and albums.  The boy looked down at his small cassette case.  It was all he had to hold Dio’s majestic markings.  He wished he’d never stopped buying vinyl.  

As the boy approached the end of the long table where the band sat, his eyes were fixed on Ronnie—watching him take pictures with his fans.  The boy’s dad, a seasoned photographer with an expensive camera, began capturing the moments.  A picture would be far more valuable than any ink from a marker, rushed and squeezed onto the insert of a cassette tape.

Dio’s band members sat like bland side dishes in a lunch line as the boy slowly passed each one, while others in line fed them various band paraphernalia for their signatures.  The boy held tight to his cassette.  The small area reserved for one signature—the voice of Rainbow.  The voice of Black Sabbath.  The voice of his generation.

The band’s new guitarist sat idle; his hand eager to share his practiced rockstar scribble.

“Don’t you want my autograph?” Asked the virtuoso.

The boy squeezed hard at his cassette, protecting it.  “No.”


NEWS UPDATE
:  The winner of the Two Before Dawn giveaway is Helen Keely.  Helen has won a copy of my new double feature collection "Two Before Dawn" as well as a copy of my short story "One for the Road."  Congratulations, Helen!  I hope you enjoy the stories!

Now Reading: 
*The Night is Long and Cold and Deep - Terry M. West
*From This Day Forward - Craig and Amy Groeschel
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