It’s just after eight in the evening and my dog is staring at me from the hallway. The cheap, red wine is coursing through my veins, warming my body like a well earned hug, but its warm happiness is only a precursor to the bubbling joy I feel from finally achieving a well set goal. This month was NaNoWriMo, and for the first time since 2014, that’s four whacks at this pig mind you, I have finally reached the disgustingly high word count goal of 50,000. To put that into a bit of perspective, that’s about 1667 words a day, rounded up. To put that into an even better perspective, Stephen King claimed that while working on a novel, he writes 2000 words a day. Stephen King doesn’t have a 9-5 sucking the life out of him (he did, at one time, gods bless him), his kids are all grown up, and he isn’t going to college or trying to snag that hot little piece from work with a heart as sick and swelled as his ambitious of placing word on paper for a living – he’s gotten all those ducks tightly in a row. Whereas, in contrast, I’m some clock punching, knuckle dragging, drunkard whose only surface passions seem to be reading, Dungeons and Dragons, and pissing my time away as the whole world carries on and on and on without me. Fifty-thousands words, just saying it sounds like a mouthful of shit. One thousand is on the above average side of a college term paper, 1984 by George Orwell was eighty-eight thousand nine-hundred and forty-two, and in between that, somewhere under the spilled wine, crushed out cigarettes, and countless baleful glances from an unwalked doggie is fifty-thousand words. Hard to believe, but believe it. If I could do it again (and I can) I would (and I will). This novel is far from over (a little on the far, but close to an end). I have bitten nails to nubs, doubted myself into insomnia, talked to my handgun like an old friend over far too many drinks Read More


Spring cleaning! While trying to consolidate all the garbage i have piling up on my computer, i decided to publish some of it here. This was an article i wrote around the end of 2013.

Magnetosphere1Don’t worry; I’m not going on some tirade about how drugs are bad and blah blah blah… I mean, you’ve seen some of my drawings, right?  Okay, with that out of the way, let’s continue.  With everything that’s going on with the earth quake / tsunami, i decided to look up Pole Shifts on our planet (as well as Geomagnetic Reversal).  Not only did i find out more information then they’d ever teach in advanced High School classes, but i also found links to way more then my brain could handle for one day.  After a while, it just started feeling like a bad trip, especially when i stumbled upon a video of mainstream media actually discussing the topic of Polar Shifts (yes, i know the video clip is old, but i rarely pay attention to the news anymore). Read More


NOTE: I originally wrote this in the winter of 2014. I try to post an updated version of this every year and send the article off to the GCRTA in hopes to receive some answer from them. To this date, I have yet to receive a reply.

Well, through no fault of my own i had to call off work and piss away the day doing fuckall. While the venom is fresh on my teeth and running down my chin, and before i rinse the salty-unsnipped cock taste of the GCRTA’s monopoly on public transportation out of my mouth with piss warm coffee and a deluge bourbon; i need to vent a bit about the culprit who is behind today’s unexpected day-off.

Almost every day you will find me head down, eyes averted into whatever fantasy/scifi book i happen to haggle off of Amazon, minding my own business among the other unfortunate souls you see on the bus. One of those lowbrows who use the bus system to get to-and-fro in my daily life. One of those “over entitled” shove-offs who manspreads with legs agape, and ladyspreads (or womanspread, whatever it’s called) with my satchel (manpurse) and lunch bag (also a manpurse) nested around me, just so any cat-musk wreaking cretin doesn’t get the wrong idea about my personal space issues and thinks i might want a mid-morning chat in between avoiding eye contact and shoving headphones over my ears to tune out their obesity burdened breathing. I am one of those poor blokes who DEPENDS on the bus system to get to social events, to get groceries, and to get to work on a daily basis Read More

Sara did what she could to keep the tears back. Sitting at the edge of her king size bed, through glistening eyes she stared out the window to watch the cold purples and dark blues of dusk slowly give away to the dim warmth of the morning glow. Memories of the previous night, a sleepless night that conjoined both days into one tired stretch of time, billowed in her exhausted thoughts. Her fists clenched as she held back the tears. But, no more lying to yourself, they’ll come. They’ll come no matter how hard you fight them (read the rest of it here).

I’ve been a busy bee lately, so sorry for the lack of updates. Between setting up a Friday night D&D campaign, running the Saturday game, and working on several podcasts; there’s barely time to breathe, let alone update this website Read More

hmmmmIt seems that i’m still struggling to get anything out. I have finally hammered down all the “whos” and “whys” of my fantasy story… but now it has come to the fun part of turning the Outline into a full fledged story, with all the good stuff like words, and paragraphs, and character development; the whole time trying not to Sanderson it by expositioning-the-shit out of everything. Honestly, it is much easier (not to mention more openly excused) to blither on about writing than it is to actually dump words into the fantasy framework without seeming any but obtrusive Read More

The air was filled with an acrid stench as the Traveler pulled his heavy chains behind him. His heavy cloak, sodden with ichor from the innards of his subterranean refuge clung to his withering body as it left a slimy trail telling the miles he had traveled. (The Traveler)

The Traveler is a a “tome” from a series I’ve been slowly working on for several years. It is essnetially little snippets of history from a forgotten land with a very loose story tying them all together. This piece deals with the traveler, it isn’t finished, but it is a start. Take a look and let me know the flints and flaws in its structure. Read it here!

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!