Changes to Fiction Page

Yes! I live. And I’m updating my Fiction page with paintings. Let me explain.

So, it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me, but I have been writing. The words have been hitting the pages and cutting board alike – as is expected until the nightmares stop – but not the publishing floor. It may be a while yet faithful fans (all 2.5 of you), but rest assured that the grue shall return in full blood and glory.

Thanks to a friend, there are new images on the Fiction page. All the previously published fiction is still listed there. Let me know if the links are down. Not long ago they were working just fine. Some of the websites are dead or dying. Ughhh. I apologize and will continue to work to bring the grue to you




Shameless plug –> All these wonderful 4 by 6 inch gouache paintings are available for purchase. That’s right. Don’t charge (haha).

Not saying much yet about the horrors to come to the Fiction page in the way of actual fiction. Expect more bad dreams, more warped delusions, and more shivers.  More better and more available? ‘Til then, keep the covers over your head and your feet tucked in.

Thanks for hanging in there.


Poetic Template: And Now for Something (Nearly) Useful

poetic injusticeEver want to talk from your fridge? Use some interesting cubular highlighted words to jazz up your scrapbook projects? Me too! And, since the internet did not provide me with the proper set of magnetic poetry knockoff templates, I made my own. It took a few minutes of cursing, but here it is in docx format. Alternatively, you may like to print the pic. You’ll just get underlines.

Cut and Paste Poetry

Fill in your own words. Add rows by setting the cursor a row and hitting the table tools menu tab marked layout, and clicking on insert below button.


Don’t hesitate to get crazy with the mod podge and magnets or glue sticks and photos. Or even printable magnet sheets, which I haven’t chanced. Have fun.


From the underworld of our mutual nightmares comes an answer no one expected, least of all yours truly. I bring you an exclusive interview. Yes, my first interview on my blog is with Miss Bigfoot.

She calls herself Sasha.

Q: What prompted you to do the interview, considering the need for secrecy about your location?

A: Every living being must shout its truth from the treetops. To do otherwise is an unforgivable offense.

Q: How do you explain the recently publicized findings concerning the hair samples claimed to be from one of your own? Are they fake, gathered from many animals in order to dupe scientists?

A: Imagine someone scoured a parking lot you’d walked through for evidence and then asked you to explain what was there.

Q: Noted. About the video, to me it seems real enough until we get a good shot of the backside. It looks like a pair of furry briefs pulled over an awesome monster movie costume. Can you give me your impression?

A: If humans dredged woodlands instead of sidewalks, they’d have similar glute muscles. Backside hair is better off trimmed, but in the sixties, well. We were behind back then. You won’t see one of us like that these days.

At this moment, I pause to consider Charmin commercials in a whole new light. Let’s get general.

Q: What do you wish the world to know about your kind?

A: We are real. Our numbers often dwindle,  but we are hardly extinct. Most of us respect humans. Please. Stop acting like paparazzi. Your vacation spot happens to be where we do our business. When humans advance enough to handle nature without walls, we’ll hang then.

Um. With me flabbergasted, the rest of the interview dissolves into polite send-offs.

No visual contact was made with Miss Bigfoot, and proof positive of the species remains to be seen. So, if your fourth celebrations involve wooded areas, take care of who’s sharing it with you.

Remastered Bigfoot More or Less Fake? Watch!


This holiday we have more to consider than fireworks and freedom. We have new insights into Bigfoot’s existence peppering the news.

In 1967, Roger set out on horseback, hunting Bigfoot with a timeless weapon – a camera. They made history. Keep in mind, they had admittedly planned to shoot a Bigfoot movie and chose a research area known for reported sightings. During this research exposition, they captured what they claim to be the creature on film. The footage begins once the cameraman’s horse was calmed down.

Recent efforts stabilized this film and isolated some of the best footage of the Sasquatch (or Yeti) of the northern wilderness. Check out the results on YouTube.


My initial reaction is mixed. Cryptozoologists deny the existence of this and many other mythical beasts. But who’s to say that we haven’t discovered all of Earth’s denizens just yet? It’s a wide world and the uncharted is under speculation, not regulation.

Besides, if I was a previously uncategorized ape-man, I’d be busy avoiding the community spirit at the fated wildlife reserve. Or worse.

Let’s take a look at the specimen as caught on camera. Those long toes. Those intense eyes. Those jiggly jugs. There’s is a visceral argument of authenticity. But that booty? That’s faker than an aging rock star’s promo photos. And the swinging arms? The homosapien-like gait?


Furthermore, genetics professor Bryan Sykes from Oxford University tested the DNA of a supposed hair swatch from Sasquatch. His findings revealed the hair more likely originated from various forest animals – like wolves, bears, and squirrels – than one legendary beast.

Looks like our festivities can continue without fear of Sasquatch attack. Phew.

Stalk Not, Waste Not

For entertainment purposes only. Don’t call me on this. Literally.

So, I sometimes find myself thinking of things to say far after the conversation has ended, the event past, an appropriate opportunity gone. Speaking of which, this may seem inappropriate anyway. So goes for this blog post. But, we are talking about those ‘far past appropriate’ moments. Like when a blasted romantic song feels like a drill bit to the temples, affection like warm sandpaper, a stolen kiss like a face rape, a plea for attention – a cry for psychiatric drugs.

After hanging with some gal pals, I happen to be currently meditating upon stalkers. Or acute social annoyances. A rose fertilizer by any other name…


Socially unawares

Talk about real life horror. Stalkers come in many packages, but most are covered in low self worth, tell-tale overblown idealism, or unrequited introspection. Driven? Obsessive? Intense? Often all three. Stalkers somehow lack essential understanding of very basic concepts. Like that of freewill. Or of the definition of harassment. Or personal space.

Or the weightlessness of letting go.

Signs that you may have encountered a stalker might include; text messages from the individual – perhaps numbering in the two or three digit variety – most closely resemble a conversation they are having with themselves, the hairs on the back of your neck rest only at night (when you cannot), random acts of serendipity, and/or changing your name has become a viable option.

Signs that you may be a stalker? Honestly, if you have to wonder, you probably already know.

Though mildly a subject of my expertize, while I never really got why, I got lucky. God blessed me with the kind of personality, and family, that naturally repels such creature attacks.

To ward off unwanted affections (or perhaps complicate matters further) I once executed a trick learned from my older sis. It seems dirty but calms the waters for a while. Especially if threats have become a part of the package.

The simple premise: start a rumor you are dating a cop or the like. Think ‘Easy A’ plus ‘Jump Street,’ which might be called “Easy Street.’ A risky endeavour, yes, but desperate times… Well, you know.

It seriously takes zero dates, only a few public appearances (plain clothed) which should include some arm locking, hand-to-back placing, and endearment calling. Courting the five-o gets noticed fast and outlasts even the most stubborn of other rumors.

You go, you dirty lil cop dater.* Just get ready for some very creative nicknames and a challengingly enriched social life.

Meanwhile, enjoy many late nights free of multiple phonecalls, belligerent voice mails, or heaping text messages. Walk outside without fear of being grabbed. Enjoy the idea of the opposite sex in the nearer future. All for the low, low price of your soul.

And the next time you catch CSI or Criminal Minds alone at night, you won’t imagine your name on a report. As much.

They had a saying in school, “snitches get stitches (or ditches, depending on whom you asked). You might substitute, “stalkers get walkers (or chalkers)”. In trusted company, anyways.

The truth?

* personal experiences may vary. Offer not suggested valid in geographical areas where dating a cop makes your stalker look like your ally.

Dealing with stalkers is serious. There is help. Don’t isolate yourself. Do exercise caution. Keep calm and continue on. Be kind, but never rewind. Your life is better off with someone who allows you the choice to be in theirs.

If you found this, you can find more resources online. While joking can ease tensions, it can also me misconstrued. Don’t play the threat game. Be polite, firm, and grounded. Cops can help. Talk to them.

On the other hand, if you have trouble letting go yourself, remember that nothing is worth chasing your self respect away for. Sometimes you really do get what you need without getting what you want. Besides, ill gotten gains are never treasures, as they always develop an unsightly patina.

Your life is better lived in the now and hereafter than in the past. And you do deserve people who make a choice to be in your life. Get off facebook, stop wondering what they’re up to, and concentrate on you.

More meme wisdom to follow, via facebook.

RLH – Update

My ‘puter is at the doctor’s office. One swipe of a flash drive sure could’ve saved me some money. For you, post reader, do call someone when doing any at-home programing.
My hopes are that my docs will be restored. They say it looks good. Turns out, computer memory works much like a book. Inside, there’s a table of contents. No matter what reformatting is done, which is what this amateur attempted, there is still a slot filled with previous formatting. All they need to do is find the right spot in the TOC. Fingers shaking and crossed. Oh, and I picked up a new hub whilst I was there. Yay me. :S

Real Life Horror – Windows Unable to Start or My Misadventures in Hubbing

I own a laptop which operates Windows 7. It has two USB ports, far less than what I require. Frustrated with swapping devices in and out and trying to get them recognized, I purchased a ten port hub on eBay, which arrived yesterday. I liked the wall mounting option because of my small desk area. And the price.
I unwrapped it and plugged it into the powerstrip and connected my keyboard, mouse, printer, and then laptop via its special cord.
The horror begins.
My HP went black screen of nothingness. Needless to say, I unhooked everything and began to act like I was locking up inside myself. All the work I have done and failed to back up raced through my mind like the matrix green and black screen on speed. My brain began to overheat. Three keys glowed on the laptops keyboard, but no startup. I turned it off and began my plans for panic attack.
After my boyfriend – hereby known as Magic Finger of Hope – pushed the power button, it finally spit out something about thermal hibernation. We let it power down and set to cool.
I read reviews on Amazon (post purchase of USB hub) to find out that it A)Does not support Windows 7 and B) Can possibly BACKFEED POWER.
Oh good. Backfeed as in distributing power to things that do not need it. Maybe that was why the battery was acting as nuclear reactor. I might be dramatizing a bit. Only a bit.
Hot lil laptop plus writer deadlines plus Meri equals you-haven’t-seen-crazy-yet-beeches.
So, I am in “this may take several minutes” stage of startup repair mode. Oh, dear Lord please save my files.
For all of you readers (all seven of you) DO read reviews BEFORE you purchase anything that connects to the multihundred dollar device of your favor. Just do.
Oh my God. A new screen. Let’s hope it doesn’t contain the word fail!

Okay, recovery process has begun. File backup first, then restore. Wish me luck, loyal fans!

Never Give Up, Just Bury Yourself in It

I’m posting this today with irony. Editing this for press, my mind is on the fact that I’ve possibly lost quite a few files that older versions do not compare to. Backup often, and well. I will not, however, give it up. What a glorious opportunity to rewrite. (Silent screams)
On to the post.

Do I ever want to give it up? Someone asked me this about writing. In fact, another – less avid reader, mind you – suggested it unless I started imagining love stories versus horror tales.
Do I want to give it all up some days? No, I say. I take heart from the greats and occasionally envision digging a long, shallow hole, crawling in, and scooping handfuls of dirt over myself. It’s not suicide, it’s good business sense. Dead writers are more salable (sans writer salaries), and exponentially more likely to become famous writers.
I’m sure the climate down there might get to me, and I would soon find myself lumbering around like the walking dead after the next agent. Perfect pitch, indeed.
Imagine a living dead version of a lemonade stand. I with my dreams, making the best of it. All I need is customers.
Maybe the first few won’t like it. Too sweet. Too sour. Too light, too heavy. Too lemony.
Everyone’s a critic. Seldom do words of praise get uttered. They are tucked away behind fear and excuses. Instead we get buried in complaints. Sometimes ones from left field. Don’t get me wrong, advice is precious to me. I thrive on the fact that someone deems me worthy to receive it. It is an honor to be chosen as a potential learner. Think of how few people you wish to openly advise. Now imagine yourself a busy editor. If only I knew the proper way to send concise thank you notes to all those who offer me assistance.
But, some say that sometimes bad calls get made. A sentence is murdered because of a bubbly coffee burp turns it sour in someone’s mind. Don’t tear it up, they say. Send on. Crunch on. Go on.
That’s life. Don’t sweat the setbacks, the sludge, the bad calls, the negativity or even the silence. Just bury yourself in the goods. Accept the possibility of success (in life, preferably!), and trudge on.
Bury me in progress.

Walk on the Dark Side


Music can change our hearts, but can it change our minds? What if life reflected a song instead of the other way around?

Inspired ny music, the anthology Dark Side of the Moon contains short fiction from the ragged, mad corners of the mind. Named after Pink Floyd’s album of the same name, this book stretches the imagination to the tunes of some psychedelic progressive rock.

Plus, my short story “Couple Modifications” is on the set list! (Catches random clothing article and flashes winning smile.)

Dark Side of the Moon is now available on amazon and createspace! Will update the fiction page shortly, but here are the links. Kindle on or paperback at createspace