This is my writing blog. I write. Sometimes.


A big, damned hero

Genre: Horror


I grab my mimosa and return the gesture. “Here’s to the crazies.”

The glasses clink just as the front door is forced in.

Warnings: graphic gore, death, serial killer short story

My most popular (by likes):

Newbury Street (poem): 

You are in a subway station.

You’re down on your last dime and you just need two more nickels.

Slide to Unlock (multiple chapters):

After being shot in the head and, from what he remembers, dying; John Forrester wakes up in a lab. He realizes something isn’t right when he’s practically glowing and the orderlies have him restrained. Being the stubborn soldier he is, John Forrester eventually escapes, but to what?

With no identity, a new hardware-enhanced body, and some crazy feds on his tail–what’s a man on the run to do?


Check the menu on the side to get to my other work ! (Long form = Multiple Chapters, but, you know, definitely not novel or even novella length)




It’s a word you know right down to the bone,

Monosyllabic with so much undertone.

And it makes the wine taste sweeter, food richer.

And it paints with each exhale the perfect picture.


Sometimes you let the word rest on your chest;

Find the slot in your ribs where it fits the best.

Sometimes you hide it in fear it will be found

By other eyes, by your eyes, by those not around.


It is a word that you dream of in lucid color

And walk among its letters like with a lover,

But the embrace of it is warmer—that of a mother;

You wake from it, bereft, looking for another.


And when another speaks the word same as you,

When the arch of syllable sounds bold and true:

The word becomes more. The person the same.

And that word will slowly become their name.


It’s a word that you know right down to the bone

And that word is simple;

It is home.

A Big Damned Hero

Genre: Horror


I grab my mimosa and return the gesture. “Here’s to the crazies.”

The glasses clink just as the front door is forced in.

Warnings: graphic gore, death, serial killer short story

A big, damned hero

Once upon a time, there were these serial killers. They dominated the news. They dominated people’s dreams. Affectionately, by the caffeine crazed, sensation hazed media, the group—for no one alone could do all this, no one alone could leave such a long trail of bodies—was called the Bodysnatchers.

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Greetings from Deutschland!

I know this blog scarcely updates but maybe you noticed a longer pause than usual and I am here to give you a much deserved answer: I am in Germany.

The move was interesting and, I have to say, I would not have been able to do it without all the people who helped me. My parents made sure I kept my head screwed on straight in the lead up and the strangers I met in Germany, like my taxi driver who spoke to my house master for me, made sure I didn’t lose my head entirely. I do want to point out, since I am sure a few might be a little skeptical as to why I am studying in Germany if I couldn’t even talk to my house master in German. Well, I could talk to him in German, but he spoke a special dialect that I didn’t know and he didn’t feel like speaking High German–as a result we weren’t really speaking the same language. It sucked, but my taxi driver saw me having trouble and stuck around. Who ever said Germans are cold are liars.They are very nice, provided you are on time.

But who cares about the struggles, right?! Let’s see the adventures!

1. Tübingen

This little town is next door to the one I am studying at and is beautiful. They have two competing churches that attempt to ring their bells louder than the other on every quarter hour. Which is really funny because one goes and then the other starts to ring even louder. However, if you are in the bell tower when they happen to go off, like we had been, it can be a little less fun…

There is also a great brauerei: Gasrhausbrauerei. If you want something light and sweet, the Apfelweiß is delicious beyond compare. If you want something that actually tastes like beer, get the classic weiß beer.

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2. Achalm

After you hike past a neighborhood and then a bunch of sheep and a rather steep incline, you get some spectacular views. There is an old fire watch tower up top that you can get on top of and see for miles in the Schwabian Alps.


3. Hohenzollern Castle

This Castle was the original homestead of the Prussian empire. The chapels were beautiful, but sadly we could not take any pictures inside. The outside is rather gorgeous too. I also caught a glimpse of the prince, which pretty much made my week.

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Hey all!

I know I’ve been rather absent…for months…

I have had a story auto-posting, which was fun to set up. Apparently I messed the links up to the parts in the series, but now that is all fixed! You should check it out if you haven’t already–all parts now accessible from any one post in the series:


Next up should be a Science Fiction short story broken into 3 Parts 😀

Here’s a tease:



Yes it’s on the moon. And YES IT IS AWESOME.

Just sayin’

Shifter: The First Time I Was Me

This is a new story about a SHAPESHIFTER

The lore is mostly pulled from the show Supernatural with influences from Norse mythology. I claim no higher or better knowledge on shifters; I just liked this particular brand of lore. And if you ever want to discuss lore, PM me because I know nobody who likes it D:

Warnings: cursing


The First Time I was me

I lived another two years stealing and thieving and living like a bloody king before Dan’s partner found me. He cornered me in Vegas, in a huge suite I had paid for out of some foreign businessman’s pocket. He leveled the gun at my head and shouted in my face: “You said you wouldn’t fucking kill anyone!”

I gave him a sharp smile, “I lied.”

His finger fumbled on the trigger and I knew—I knew from how unprepared Dan had been that his friend, Peter, would be unprepared too. I knew that was just a bullet, not a silver bullet that could kill me, loaded in the gun. I knew he was only going to make me moan and groan until I tore his throat out. I guess, then, knowing what I knew it was silly to stand there, but there was something liberating about being shot at six times.

The silence after the gun’s roar was deafening. I had sunk to my knees at some point, my hands clawing at the carpet as blood flowed from my head, stomach, and chest. I looked up to see Peter walking closer, slightly unsteady for a seasoned hunter. “I suppose you don’t run into many shape shifters,” I said around a mouthful of blood. But then I ate my words as he slid a long, silver knife from his boot.

“You could say that,” he agreed but continued in a deeper, revenge laced voice; “but I knew a guy who does. This is pure silver bitch.”

And I also knew he had that knife—I had gotten stronger in two years and it was easy to know everything he knew when we were within ten feet of each other. He was also so scatter-brained from the idea of this—of killing me—that waltzing in his head and sifting around hadn’t been hard. I knew it would come to this from the minute he rolled into town. I just hadn’t bothered to put a stop to it, decided to play it like a game.

The survivor in me grimaced as the point of the blade tapped just below my shoulder blade and is withdrawn to allow for a heavier, stronger downward stroke. Yet the other part of me, the scrap that’s humane rather than human (because there’s no human in a monster) thought this is justice and the taste of blood, my blood, had never been sweeter. “Die shifter!” he states before sending the blade down and through.

And in that space between dying and death, I remember Bridget and she’s standing at the edge of my subconscious with auburn hair and bright eyes and she’s proud; she’s proud he avenged her, too.

part 1– –part 2– –part 3-part 4– –part 5– –part 6- -part 7-

I shifted. I wasn’t me. I was someone else. I met a hunter. I killed a man. I went home. I was me.