Monthly Archives: April 2016

Hunched on the ground, his spine nearly twisted over his swollen gun, the gaunt man pushes his dirty hands into the plastic of a package. The grocery clerk, dark eyed and nearly seething with numbness, imagines the plastic to be the flesh of someone’s rib cage as his fingers, caked with grime, tears it slowly open. (Read the rest here)

Reworking this piece was almost like looking over the lost letters of a school shooter, and I’m pretty certain that at the point of writing this, originally, i was pretty close to getting to that point; hindsight and all. When I composed “the clerk” i was working for a grocery store which, until i finish writing my nasty little smear piece about them, will remain nameless (don’t worry, their name, along with true tales of sex, drugs, and good old American produce is pretty close to reaching its first pass); but let’s just say that its a pretty big deal here in North-Eastern Ohio. All in all, it was a nasty experience, one that drove a lot of my soul out of my body and nearly turned me into a placid, empty middle management vessel – thank the deep ones for “forced resignations.”

Anyway, if you want to read the full piece, just click the link above, or right here, or you can look for it in the writing menu above. Criticisms and comments welcomed and appreciated!



Think about your grandmother, how sweet she was, how much she truly cared about you and smiled at you (with fake gleaming teeth, or her own in some cases). Does that bring some warmth, warmth that you thought faded after they passed, only to then realize that the embers of her love were and are always there, keeping you from freezing. Imagine the opposite of that. The exact opposite.

oneeyedshitmonkeythumbNow here is a piece that i didn’t entirely intend to write. While working on a piece, long since tucked into the “meh, maybe one day” folder, i was trying to design characters that were foster children all tucked together in one house, with severely religious foster parents, that were all waiting, and trying, to “rotate out” (meaning that they would be shuffled off to another home, perhaps one with less rules or whatever). From personal experience, most foster children aren’t well adjusted and have less than desirable pasts (which is a subject all on its own, perhaps for that story which i should complete, nudge nudge), so i wanted to emulate this by throwing, what else, shitty parent stories in the mix; but i think i dug a little bit too deeply.

Now, for this piece, i’m not exactly positive on the context, but for some reason i had pulled this bit of text into its own file and worked on it quite extensively. I purposely aimed to make the prose thin, almost simple, and expressed in almost a casual way, almost as if i expected to chop it up here and there with quotations and threw in a few lines of what was going on around the teller of this story and the listener while the story is being told.

The story is pretty horrid, the concept alone still makes me cringe, being a bit on the nose and all, but hopefully i conveyed the simplistic storytelling that, say, some one of fifteen or sixteen with limited intelligence might convey.

Now you can read the whole thing BY FOLLOWING THIS LINK HERE, or you can DOWNLOAD THE PDF VERSION (for free) and read it later.


I was fired on Tuesday, Marsha left me on Wednesday, and the world ended on Thursday around seven-thirty-ish. It’s Monday now, had a few days for the apocalypse to finally sink in and now I’m utterly bored out of my wits. I can’t watch the TV, power’s been out since Friday morning, not that there was anything exciting on, all the stations were either playing late night infomercials, a news loop of the pope vanishing into a bolt of lightning, and JAG. I can’t get a proper rub-out, you know, the age of information and all its goodies tend to pamper a man. And with the power out, the beer’s already warm, so I can’t really get good and loaded while playing solitaire, now can I? I thought about driving up to the shore and watching the bits of the moon sparkle in the night sky or the first that, I’m assuming, is the burning wreckage of Canada, over Lake Erie; but traffic’s bumper to bumper with those giant insects the size of city buses crawling down Detroit Road. A whole lot of good being the last man on earth is, I’ll tell you, it’s actually pretty boring.

It’s been a while since a posted here, and it has been a pretty bumpy road. But writing, though changing here and there, hasn’t stopped.  Up in the short story section I have a new tale, called Having a Beer with Death.  I’ve also made it a PDF file so you can download it, for free, and read it later.

“Her black dress is tight against the curves on her body, too tight. On purpose or on accident, it isn’t something unpleasant or unwanted, at least for a guy. Tight hips, tight body, tight top squeezing her breast up and over their restraints…”

I said there was a change coming to the page, and I meant it. A while ago a friend challenged me to write something other than fantasy fiction. Though i’ve tried my hand at writing fiction based in the real world, one without trolls and mystic swords, I could never really wrap my head around anything powerful enough to craft and continue into a short story when it came to the realms of romance. I would always make it past the setting, a few characters, a couple of crafty whips of dialog, and then all of my steam would dissipate and I would just become a sad sack who doubted his abilities for hours and hours and until i finally cried myself to sleep. Whether it is because i’ve found a structure to keep me a productive writer, or because I wanted to prove that I can write outside of just one genre, I decided to take my friend up on her challenge.   So here is my attempt at a ROMANTIC SHORT STORY! Either follow that link, or look for MONKEY in the Writing/Short Story section of my blog.

Feel free to share your criticism.


There once was a time when I had locked myself on a porch, yes a porch, and wrote six months straight. I was at a lost segment of time, recovered from my addictions and readjusting to life in North-Eastern Ohio. I had taken residence with my mother in a small apartment, there wasn’t an available room to sleep in, or to house anything I had owned, so I settled in the Three Season porch that jutted out from the dining room (only separated from the rest of the apartment by two thin, far from sound proof, doors). Three walls, with strips of glass that could be opened and closed by twisting a nob on each panel, was the only thing keeping me from actually living outside. The winter chill had finally left by May, and I preferred the hotter months, so the place seemed livable, aside from the space. While a sizable porch, when it came to living and housing I only had room for a bed, a small typing desk, and a narrow dresser.

For money I found a job at a grocer part time Read More

My players have been through a lot – a lot. They freed the city of Phandalin from the Redbrand Thugs, brought down the Black Spider, fought a green dragon, accidentally released a demon from captivity (which placed them in an inter dimensional spot light after they threw off the balance of good and evil in the world, which they are being requested to fix), and came face to face with an evil Lich lord who, after throwing the party’s teifling through a murder hole (look it up – when it is up), left his business card and stole the Forge of Spells, a magical artifact that can literally create magical items, right out from under their nose. They have encountered vampire spawn, werewolves (one, the party’s rogue gnome, even being currently cursed with lychantropy), and stumbled upon the secret plot of an illithid invasion from the shattered remains of the Shadow Realm. They have been bashed, bruised, burned, squashed, crushed, poisoned; but still they managed to come out on top – which means I still had to give them one more kick.


With the lost mines of Phandelver starter module now behind us, its was time for me to take the training wheels off the campaign a bit. While the starter set did have its downfalls (mostly that of being a bland vanilla experience, which I livened up with a few dashes of evil), it did leave enough open ended sections that I could use to drive the story forward; but sometimes its nice to have a “one off” session where the action is upfront and the story arch ends when the bag of dice is shoved back into the bookbag. Tonight was a such a session, and it was ripped almost entirely from the movie Home Alone Read More