A Bit of This and That

Hey all!

It’s been awhile since I’ve posted on here, so I thought I’d offer an update on everything I have going on…

First of all, the publisher responsible for my three novels, (Bone White, Blackened, The Winding Down Hours) has been purchased by Hydra Publications. While this can sometimes produce headaches and uncertainty, the transition thus far has been seamless. The contracts are still in place and will remain so for their duration, if not longer. I’m proud to say I am now part of the Hydra family.

Since its release in the fall of 2017, sales for The Winding Down Hours have been very (and I can’t stress this enough) very slow. I can only assume that my readers have spoken, and they’re telling me they prefer I scare the crap out of them. Well, let me tell you, the message is coming through loud and clear. (But that doesn’t mean I won’t strap on my literary shoes again sometime down the road.)

What it does mean, however, is that right now, I have a steady output of horror coming your way. I don’t have a release date yet, but my collection of short stories titled, Let There Be Dark, will be released by Hydra Publications probably late spring/early summer. I can’t wait to share it with you all, and look to do some serious promotion for it once it’s out. I even have a cool contest for you all as we get closer to release date. The synopsis will go something like:

“From an oddities shop with a collection too macabre for even the most hardcore of enthusiasts, to a country road bridge with a horrifying past, Let There Be Dark is the first horror short story collection from the author of the horrifying novel, Bone White. Between these covers you will encounter decades-old ghosts, blood thirsty creatures and humans with more than one screw loose. These eight short stories are sure to help you discover where your threshold for fear lies.”

Finally, the first draft of my next horror novel is approximately 90% complete. Once it is finished and has undergone a whole lot of criticism from a select few readers and 7 or 8 revisions, I hope to have it ready for submission by the end of the year. Fingers crossed. As for the title and what it’s about, you’ll just have to stay tuned…

‘Til next time, my friends.


Got links?

Whether you’re old school and like to hold the book you’re reading, or one of those people who prefer the convenience of being able to carry your library around on your cell phone, The Winding Down Hours is available to you. Look on Amazon, barnesandnoble.com, iTunes, Kobo, Google Play and pretty much anywhere you shop for books, and you’ll find it. Here are a few links to help save time…




Coming September 30, 2017!

Home isn’t always where the heart is.

The Taylors haven’t spent this much time together in years. But with their mother gone and the tendrils of dementia slowly entwining their father, the three siblings have one last chance to relive their idyllic youth while packing up the family home. Life isn’t as simple as when they were children, however, and missteps of the past have driven them irreconcilably apart. Only Mason, the middle Taylor, is determined to mend the fractures before the weekend ends and their time on the Cape is done.

A story of the common hopes, trials and disappointments of family life – and just how difficult acceptance can be.


TWDH (ebook cover).jpg




The 2nd edition of SHADOWS REMAIN is now available in both paperback and ebook! The new edition contains a cleaner, tighter, professionally-edited text, various story line alterations and a new spin on the ending. This is the novella SR was meant to be all along!

Shadows Cover (ebook)

Did Someone Say Update???

Been busy as you know what lately, so I thought I’d offer an update on all of the various projects I have going on right now…

The second edition of SHADOWS REMAIN is in the final stage of editing. The cover is finished (looks amazing) and I’m thrilled with the editing that has taken place. The text is not only better and reads smoother, but a few very cool aspects of the story have been slightly altered. We’re shooting for a mid to late April release. I should be able to narrow that down in the next week or two.

THE WINDING DOWN HOURS has finally found a publisher and I’m excited to say that editing has begun! This story is ten years in the making and I am so excited to finally be able to share it with the world. Updates on this one will be coming over the next few months, but all estimations point to a late autumn/early winter release. Fingers crossed…

Writing on the next horror novel is well underway and I would estimate it to be about 75% complete. But that’s only the first draft, so there’s still a long way to go before it’s time to submit. We’re getting there, though. Hope to have it ready for submission sometime late summer/early fall.

Oh, and there’s one more exciting bit of news to share, though I can’t speak of it yet. It’s something I’m pretty stoked about and will share as soon as I’m allowed. (Hopefully in the next month or two) So stay tuned…

‘Til next time, my friends…

Do I? (A play in one act) Happy Valentines Day!


Jake – a nervous twenty-seven year old bank teller.

Rachel – a twenty-nine year old comedy writer with a quick wit.

Waitress – sassy and in her late fifties. She’s seen it all.



Curtain opens on the interior of an upscale Italian restaurant. White linen tablecloths hang from the few tables positioned onstage. The room is sparsely populated with diners, suggesting an off night. Jake has just proposed to Rachel, his girlfriend of four years. He is waiting for an answer…

Jake: Well?

Rachel: Hmm…I’m thinking.

Jake: (sarcastically) Well, by all means, take your time.

Rachel: Oh, I will. (pause) How do I know you’re the right man for me?

Jake: We’ve been dating for four years. Have you not given it any thought ‘til now?

Rachel: Oh, I’ve thought about it, I’m just not sure yet.

(the waitress approaches the table)

Waitress: Any dessert? Coffee perhaps?

Jake: Um, none for me thanks. I was considering a bottle of champagne (turns to Rachel sarcastically)…but I’m just not sure yet. Could you give us a minute?

Waitress: Absolutely. Take your time. (walks away)

Jake: (to himself) Don’t worry, she is.

Rachel: Don’t you want me to be sure?

Jake: Of course I want you to be sure. I just thought that maybe you were already at that point. It’s not like we haven’t talked about a future together. (pause) Are you having doubts about us?

Rachel: No, no doubts, really. (pause) Which reminds me, have you heard the new Gwen Stefani song? It’s a huge departure from what she did with the band.

Jake: No, I haven’t. But I’m sure it’s good. Can we get back to the conversation at hand? Please?

Rachel: And that was…(pause)…oh, that’s right, dessert. I’m thinking the Ricotta cake.

Jake: Come on, Rachel. What’s the problem?

Rachel: The problem is I can’t decide. The Ricotta cake, or the Tiramisu. They both sound so good!

Jake: You’re kidding me…

Rachel: Um, no. You know how much I love them both.

Jake: I’m talking about this whole conversation. You’re kidding about forgetting what we were discussing. You have to be.

(A long pause on Rachel’s part. She appears distracted)

Jake: Rachel? Are you even listening to me?

(Rachel holds up index finger in Jake’s direction)

Jake: For God’s sake…

Rachel: Hold on. (pause) Did you hear that? (tilts her head in the direction of a couple across the room)

Jake: No, I didn’t. (pause) I was focused on our conversation. Though I seem to be the only one.

Rachel: He just told her she means the world to him and that his life didn’t begin until the day they met. How romantic? You could take a lesson from him.

Jake: Now I know you’re kidding me!

Rachel: What? We could use a bit more romance in our relationship.

Jake: (beside himself with disbelief) What the hell do you think tonight is all about?!

(the waitress returns)

Waitress: Anything calling your name?

(Rachel turns her focus to the waitress)

Rachel: I’m leaning toward the Tiramisu. But first let me ask you. (gesturing towards Jake) Would you marry this guy?

Waitress: (turns her attention to Jake, plays along) hmm, let’s see. Not bad looking.

Jake: Gee, thanks.

Rachel: (interjects) Stand up, babe. Let her have a good look.

Jake: That’s alright.

Waitress: Decent dresser.

Jake: So glad you approve.

Waitress: Appears to have a fairly pleasant personality from what I can tell. Though, maybe a touch sarcastic.

Jake: (growing increasingly irritated) Do ya think?

Waitress: Does he have any money?

Rachel: (while shaking her head no) Yes.

Waitress: Does he treat you right?

Rachel: Somewhat.

Jake: Somewhat?!

Waitress: How is he, you know, in bed?

Jake: Excuse me? What the–

Rachel: (cuts Jake off) Adequate. I guess I can’t complain. Often. Though I could make a suggestion from time to time.

Waitress: Honey, couldn’t we all?

(laughter erupts between the two women)

Jake: Ha, ha. May I make a suggestion? That you remember who is leaving the tip?

Waitress: A little testy though, isn’t he?

Rachel: Oh, yea. He can be.

Waitress: Definitely something to take into consideration.

Jake: Well, maybe it’s because this proposal isn’t going the way I’d planned. Or hoped. I need an answer.

Rachel: I’m sorry. I just wanted a second opinion. Let’s go with the Tiramisu.

Jake: (exasperated) Son of a…somebody shoot me!

Rachel: What’s wrong, baby? You wanted the Ricotta cake, didn’t you?

Jake: (to the waitress) The Tiramisu. Please.

Waitress: Would that be with or without champagne?

(Jake hesitates)

Rachel: With. By all means. Can’t celebrate without it!

(The curtain closes on a smiling Rachel, and Jake, elbows on the table, head cradled in his hands)

Getting Away (Or, How to Stay Sane as an Artist)

I’ve just returned (unscathed, mind you) from my annual trek into the deep woods with the sole purpose of writing. Over the course of a few days, I worked on both the edits for the 2nd edition of Shadows and wrote several thousand new words in the upcoming horror novel. (I would share the title with you, but since I keep changing it, sharing at this stage in the game would be pointless.) What I will share with you, however, are a few thoughts I had while away. Keep these in mind the next time you choose to disappear into the woods for whatever reason…

  1. A cabin located deep in the woods at night with no cell phone service can be a very lonely place. Let’s just get that out of the way right now. Relaxing? Yes. Distraction-free? Yes. Lonesome? Also yes.
  1. A cabin located deep in the woods at night with no cell phone service and the film score to Schindler’s List playing in the background can be a very depressing place. It took only two songs in to realize that. I wouldn’t recommend it. But if you’re a glutton for punishment and choose to ignore my recommendation, just remember to hide all of the sharp objects ahead of time. I’m not even kidding.
  1. The advent of Netflix goes hand in hand with lower word counts. It’s a proven fact. (By me, if by no one else.) Especially with the availability of full seasons of shows for which to binge on. (Did I mention you get lonely sometimes?) This is the first time I’ve had Netflix available to me at the cabin, and The Ranch proved a worthy adversary to writing more than once.
  1. While soaking in a hot tub deep in the woods at night can be a relaxing way to end a long day of writing, just remember to uncheck all horror film scores from your playlists before setting Spotify to ‘shuffle.’ Otherwise, the next scream you hear may be your own.
  1. When the words are flowing freely, so will the time. As with most trips away from home, when you are at your busiest is when time seems to go by so quickly. And in this case, it truly is a double-edged sword.
  1. Microwaved chicken pot pies make a respectable dinner when paired with red wine. (The vino of choice for this trip was Apothic Red.)
  1. And finally, with the world in chaos and life being as busy as it gets, it sometimes becomes necessary to check out for a few days in order to concentrate on being creative. Whether you’re a writer, painter or like to sketch a bit of still life, there are few places more conducive to creativity than the woods, completely isolated from civilization. And let me tell you, with the beauty of the environment, the surrounding wildlife and the fact there’s not a soul around for miles, if you can’t create art in that environment, then brother, you might as well give it up and find a different hobby.

So there you have it. A few thoughts.

Til next time, my friends…


All My Life

Being asked how long I’ve been writing has always been a trick question. The easy answer? Technically, my first published pieces were a couple of poems I’d written in 7th grade that the teacher printed and bound with string. Cool? Sure, but the entire class had poems in the book. It’s not that mine were all that special. I also have a couple of notebooks full of really bad song lyrics that I wrote in HS in the late 80s. Let me tell you, Faster Pussycat had nothing on me.

But if they want to know how long I’ve been writing SERIOUSLY, then that’s another story altogether. That didn’t start until I went back to college at the age of thirty-five…

(Cue the harp and flashback waves.)

When it comes to getting a college degree, there are core classes that must be taken despite your course of study: basic sciences, math, history, humanities and English. And that’s how I met the first of several people who have guided me on this path of becoming an author: Ms. Beki Test.

Thinking it might be fun, I elected what would become (unbeknownst to me at the time) the first of many composition and writing classes. Up to that point, I’d written four or five fairly rough short stories. And by rough I mean bad. Really bad. At least in my eyes, and that’s all that mattered because I hadn’t really shown them to anyone.

That was about to change.

One of the class assignments was to keep a weekly composition journal. Ms. Test would collect them every four or five weeks, grade the entries and hand them back, occasionally with comments written on the pages. Now, similar to my struggle to come up with blog post ideas, I could never think of anything to write about. Once I had a topic, I was fine, but getting to that point usually left me with a dented forehead from beating it against the wall.

As the semester wound down, I found myself in need of two last entries. For one, I expounded on how cool it would be to be a writer. The romance of it all, being published and having your name on the spines of books gracing the shelves of bookstores and libraries all over the world. Because to me, that’s what being a writer was. A dream so far out of reach for a regular guy in Ohio, that the very idea of being a writer never occurred to me, despite my lifelong love of books.

Still, I needed one more entry. As time ran out, I sucked it up and simply included one of my shorter stories for my final journal entry. The very thought of sharing it with someone made my stomach hurt, but I needed to cover my ass and complete the assignment so as not to tarnish my grade. (I was, after all, on the Dean’s List. Can you believe that? Yeah, me neither.)

Our journals were returned on the last day of class. Initially, I didn’t even bother opening it. I knew the story was bad, and the last thing I needed was some uppity English professor ripping it to shreds. (She wasn’t really uppity at all. It was just my insecurities building up their defenses. It happens.) But, a couple days later, my curiosity got the better of me and I finally broke down and flipped through the journal. You know how it is, no matter how bad you think you’ve done on a job, there’s still that small part of you that hopes for praise. Even a simple, ‘that’s actually not so bad.’

Surprisingly, the feedback I got proved more beneficial than that, and more than I’m sure Ms. Test was aware. Her feedback changed my outlook on what the essence of a ‘writer’ truly was. There, on the bottom of the last page of the story, right after the entry about how cool it would be to be a writer, were four little, yet significant words written in purple ink:

‘You are a writer.’

It sounds so simple now. Of course I was. I wrote, didn’t I? But it never dawned on me exactly what a writer was. I’d glamorized the talents of King, Hemingway, Puzo and all of the other authors I grew up on. Put them on such a pedestal that, skill and talent notwithstanding, a regular guy from Ohio could never attain such a position. But here I was with a very intelligent and respected English professor calling me (gasp) a writer.

Now, the story still sucked. But suddenly, that wasn’t the point anymore. The point was that you have to start somewhere, no matter where, and work up from there. The important thing is just to do it. Is my name gracing the spines of books in bookstores all over the world? Not just yet, but we’re getting there. The real question is, am I a writer? And my answer to that question is, hell yeah, I am. Not because of some status or position I’ve reached, but because that’s what I do. I write. So when someone asks me how long I’ve been doing it, I now simply say, ‘all my life.’

Till next time, my friends…