Writer, Musician, Gamer, Dad, Husband, Data Monkey (Not in any specific order). Also a Psych-o, Browncoat, Scaper, Whovian, and most recently SPN. Fan of Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Super Heroes in general. Rabid gamer geek, especially for Mass Effect and Dragon Age and for Table-top games too.
I've written and self-published two novels so far in the genre of modern action horror. Vampires, Zombies, Demons, Werewolves with a few pesky humans thrown in as well. You can check them out via the link below!
I am currently working on the third book of the Undead War trilogy as well as a new Fantasy novel and a stream of Fan-fiction for the TV show Psych. Look me up at psychfic.com.
Well Crap. I planned to participate in Nation Novel Writing Month (nanowrimo), but once I read through the rules and regs, I found out that I can't use any projects that have already begun. Last thing I wanna do is start ANOTHER writing project. I've already got two novels in progress...
I had planned to work on my YA Fantasy Novel, but I've already got 10K words. So either I drop out of the festivities or I come up with a whole new concept in the next two weeks. Not really sure which way I should go?
I stare through the reinforced glass of the room that I woke up in. Below me, the cargo deck filled with crates. I know they contain food and weapons and supplies but I don’t care. I keep looking at the Kodiak - the shuttle that takes us out to planet-side missions. My heart rages in my chest and my blood boils. It’s been days since I got to see the spray of blood from my enemies; hear the tearing of flesh and crunching of bone; taste the tang of unfiltered air.
I need to get out of here.
Shepard promised me combat and my body screams out for that promise to be delivered. I understand now that this is normal for my people. We were born and bred to fight and nothing will change that, not even curing the genophage, the plague that stopped my people from over-running the galaxy. I don’t care about domination or revenge or my heritage or my future.
I need to kill something.
Okeer whispered to me in the tank. He told me our history and what it meant to be krogran. He showed me images of our people and the glorious battles they fought. But until I watched my first enemy fall before me, none of those words or pictures meant a damn thing. Watching that thresher maw fall and seeing those traitorous scum bleed out on the same battlefield. That taught me everything I need to know.
I need something to eat.
Halloween is coming and I LOVE this time of year! Here’s a little something to set the mood, inspired by the Slender Man.
Stillness descended on the rural town. One by one, the lights winked out in the houses scattered along the quiet streets until the only illumination came from the street lamps. The moonlight was muted by a thin layer of clouds and the stars were barely visible. This quiet would be peaceful if not for the underlying tension in the air, a palpable feeling of fear and dread.
Something stalked the streets.
Moving through the shadows, a lone figure slipped from one patch of darkness to another with silent, gliding steps. An inky blackness seemed to follow this creature, for it could not be considered a man. Its torso and limbs were elongated, like a shadow of a man cast by a distant light. Its skin was pale and withered like old parchment. There were no eyes, no mouth, no nose - its face was just warped flesh.
Wherever it moved, the darkness grew and in that deepening shadow, it looked even less human. Black tendrils stretched outward, writhing and grasping. It made no sound and the air around the creature became deathly still.
Eventually it came to stop in front of small ranch style house. The porch light flickered like a candle. Curtains fluttered in the second story window and a pair of large frightened eyes could be seen in the sputtering glow.
The light finally went out with a soft pop and a shower of sparks as darkness surged toward the house.
Tonight, the phantom will feed.
I got behind on my Drabble-A-Day entries over the weekend due to a lack of time and energy. So to make up for it, here is another second one for today. I think the inspiration is clear. I hope you enjoy it.
She spins like maple seed caught on the breeze. Colorful silken fabric rustles and snaps with crisp whip-crack sounds. Her hair, unbound, tumbles over her shoulders as she comes to a stop in front of me. Our eyes meet. A flirtatious wink makes my heart flutter and I find myself grinning back at her.
She turns away again and her body begins to undulate to the slow pulsing rhythm of the drum. I wet my lips and bring the mouthpiece of my clarinet back into position. My breath slides over the reed as my fingers flow over the shining keys of my instrument. I close my eyes and let the music ripple outward from my heart and soul.
A connection is made: sound and movement intertwined in a pattern that can only be described as sensual. When I open my eyes, she stands facing me, her hips sliding back and forth hypnotically while her arms and hands weave a slow, intricate pattern. We stare at each other, lost in a moment of passion while the music swirls around us.
Finally, she turns away to face the crowd once more. They watch her adoringly but very few of them are aware of the link that has been forged. As long as the music continues, she and I are one.
"I wish I had a time travel device to go meet my ancestors!" The young girl’s voice cut through the stillness of the lazy Sunday morning.
The girl’s father sat behind his desk, sipping his coffee and watching over her while cartoons played in the background. A small smile slid over his lips as he muttered softly to himself, “that’s my girl.”
"I know daddy, I have to be careful though. If I change anything, it could cause a pair of ducks. I don’t know why that’s bad, but the Doctor guy with the blue box - he said it could really mess everything up."
"I think you mean ‘paradox’, honey." he said, the grin becoming wider. "And yeah, those are very bad. Has mommy been letting you watch our shows again?"
She played with her dolls, not answering for a little while. Distractedly, she responded “No, I just had a long talk with the man. He was really funny. He asked if we had any fish fingers, but I laughed at him and said that fish don’t have fingers. I hope he comes back again some day.”
Goosebumps appeared on his arms as a cold shiver ran up his back. ”What man are you talking about? Who was it?”
She turned an angelic smile up at him and said matter-of-factly, “Yep! That’s him!”
- My daughter was watching Phineas and Ferb yesterday (thank you Netflix!) and after an episode involving time travel, she said those exact words from the first line of this scene. My wife and I watched the latest Doctor Who last night and I couldn’t get her little voice out of my head. This drabble was born. Enjoy!
I saw someone else doing this and I thought it was a great idea. In gearing up for National Novel Writing Month (November), I’m going to start doing a drabble a day for the next 30 days: various settings from books, tv or games and some original stuff too. So first up, a little scene from Star Wars: The Old Republic between my Sith Warrior and his new bride, the lovely twi’lek Vette.
"Vette, have you seen my spare saber hilt?" I had to shout to be heard over the low hum of the engines. The Emperor’s Wrath, indeed. Crawling on the floor of the engine room and squeezing into spaces way too small for someone of my …stature.
"And why would you think I’d have it, oh great and powerful sith lord?" My wife’s voice had a sharp edge to it that I’d come to recognize and dread; the tone that usually preceded a round of scathing remarks. It amazed me that so much passion and fire could be contained in a creature so small and beautiful, but then, that was one of the reasons I married her.
With a hand on her hip, she continued scathingly. ”You think I stole it or something? Maybe I pawned it on our last trip to Nar Shadda. Is that what you think? Maybe your ‘apprentice’ borrowed it or that walking fleabag! Why would I take your stupid saber thingy?”“
I turned to look at her. Even sitting on the floor, I barely had to tilt my head to look into her glittering eyes. ”Actually, my love. I was asking you because the last time I had the ‘saber thingy’, it was attached to my belt. The one that you pulled off of me and threw across the room during our last stop in port; when everyone else had shore leave…”
Her eyes became wide and a dark flush spread across her aqua-colored skin. An almost shy smile slid over her lips and she slid down onto the floor next to me, her lithe form pressing against mine as she wriggled under the metal pipes. Now her voice was soft, playful, and just a bit breathless. “I’ll help you look.”