Big News

Hello world. Looks like I have been MIA for a while. But I am back now and ready to get this party started. So let's kick off this new year of blogging with some exciting news. I am about to publish my first book. That's right and you heard it here first.
My first paranormal romance is to be published on Nook and Kindle and should be hitting the virtual library sometime late April. Until then... I'll be posting a sneak peak here sometime next week. This little novella will keep you on your toes and up at night. And it won't break the "budgetors" bank.
Well I'm off- got lots of editing to do.

Dreams and Tails

As far as writing goes. I am feeling a little like a failure. I haven't done as  much as I would have liked... actually I haven't done anything at all. And at my age I feel that door closing quickly. I have over 600K words written and nothing but a half full 6GB jump-drive to show for it.
I am chasing dreams and tails and all that is getting me is dizzy and tired. What am I wasting my time on? Dreams. And tails.  I just get exasperated with whatever I am currently working and I move on to another story and then they never get finished. Or they they get finished but never edited. Or they get finished and edited but never queried. Or they get finished and edited and queried but never mailed out. In the end its all the same. A dream to write becomes reality and takes form on word document but its final resting place is just me chasing my own damn tail.
*Sigh* I wonder if I will ever grow a pair and actually do something with this God given imagination or just let it rot in a never ending cycle of circles.

Ambrosia Skin

Ambrosia skin

 

A kiss from my pink stained lips transfers to the rim of yours

a sticky sweet taste like cherry flavored dew drops

lingers on your mouth as if sprinkled with a glaze

a quick breath after a sizzling touch, pulling all stops

you kiss again unfazed

 

My flesh blazing warm under your clutch taking me

higher Cooing enticements slip from your lips triggering a desire

spawned from eve

A taste of flesh, a salty fetish

lingering on the brink of a brazen persuasion 

to delve into my furtive grotto and drink of my ambrosia

then bring forth my reprieve

 

On the offence not to deceive reciprocity

a gluttonous demonstration of coveting  

A lollipop to satisfy the sweet tooth kept handy

An insatiable cadence, a delicious delicacy

An ambrosia of his own

shared only with me

The question

One question I always find myself asking is... Am I doing this right?
*Am I keeping the blog the way I am supposed to?
*Am I analyzing this account from the right perspective? (work)
*Am I handling this argument the proper way?
*Am I writing the story that is in my head the right way?

I still haven't come by an answer for the few of many questions I listed above but I would like to address the last. When I follow the blogs of other writers, some well known others just blooming, the first thing I do is find a post about their writing style. (if they have a post)

The same question is asked of many authors, "How do write your stories?" Any many authors are generous with their answers. But one common answer I find is most authors set out a guideline before they put fingertips to keyboard (or if you're archaic- pen to paper). They write out their ideas and formulate a plot and research and research some more and then some draw out an outline.

I tried this once. Who am I kidding, I tried this a lot. But I always find that I rarely stick to my outline. I affectionately refer to my writing style as schizophrenic. I come up with an idea and typically I will write a paragraph or two about how I want the story to progress. Sometimes my paragraphs turn into multiple paragraphs; an army of mini-stories that get woven together like linen to make an outfit. Sometimes it works for me. Sometimes it doesn't. Most often I find myself re-reading what I have penned and find out that there are inconsistencies or contradictions. And the rework is tedious. But I always find that I am still as in love with my characters as the day i birthed them.

So where am i going with all of this? A writing style is just that- it is YOUR style. There is NO right or wrong way to go about it. Depending on how your write you may create more work for yourself later but if that is how you do it, then do it- own it. Sometimes letting your characters tell their own story and then tweaking it later is the only option.

So, write on friends. May you find your style and may your style be the lifeblood of your stories.

#HappyWrighting.

Empty cradle

Empty cradle

Empty arms fold into themselves carrying nothing but a regret that was promised to save a life, to give him a chance. Arms, folding around a hollow shell of a person living a hell that she created for herself. Doing what she thought was right, she gave up the fight too quick and lives with the reminder of her failure.  

Hearing his cries in the middle of the night she wakes to a reality that is only lies. Blue walls with little boy toys, denim overalls and cooing baby noise fade into the darkness of an empty room. An image that could saver her dissipates as he sleeps in an empty cradle?

And I see as I leave I

turn my back on the pain

that your name isn’t mine

and I lacked the strength

to do what was right.

And it shows as I go that you

are better off not knowing

my name, ‘cuz it stains

the very string of life

 I can’t heal the pain inside your heart when there is nothing left of my own. With all my sins exposed you are safer to never know me. Maybe when you are grown you will understand the sacrifice made so you could be, so you could see, the world for what it really was.

And you will never hear the hurt in ever tear that fell from my eyes when you were never near for me to hold. Behind the perfect guise a terrible story hides that no one was ever told. Please baby know that I never wanted to go and leave you in her arms as her son when you were mine.

 

But I see as I leave I

turn my back on the pain

that your name isn’t mine

and I lacked the strength

to do what was right.

 

Now it shows as I go that you

are better off not knowing

my name, ‘cuz it stains

the very strain of life

that I gave to you.

I cant do over the mistake I made when I walked away. I carry a hate that I would have betrayed you because they gave you what I could only take away. And as I go I want you to know this was the only way I could show that the only thing I knew was to do right by you.

 

So I see as I leave I

turn my back on the pain

that your name isn’t mine

and I lacked the strength

to do what was right.

It shows as I go that you

are better off not knowing

my name, ‘cuz it stains

the very strain of life

that I gave to you.

Excerpt "Zephra"

** In this short excerpt Zephra, my half human half android, has slipped through the boards of the back porch outside of the carriage house she is temporarily sharing with Hyact, her temporary body guard.  Does Zephra need a body guard? No. But she is about to be sent on a very secret, high security mission and the "Secretary of Defense" wants to make sure she is kept out of trouble until she is needed... Unable to free herself from the silly predicament, Hyact comes to the rescue only to find the clumsy oversight is graver than they both thought.**
--------- The year is 2133 and America has taken a drastic turn. Only the elite, the modified and the over trained survive as mercenaries. But even in an Utopian world not everything is as it seems. And Zephra, a twenty-one year old veteran is about to find out that killing in the name of your country is still killing. And when the hunters become the hunted only the fiercest survive-----------

*Enjoy!

“Zephra, why didn’t you just pull yourself up? You’re strong enough.”

“I was stuck,” I gently roll onto my side so I can briefly lift my shirt and show where one of the boards had gouged into my ribs. “And I panicked.”

“Zephra, jeese, let me see that.”

I lift my shirt again and pain as real and raw as I have ever felt ripples through me and I clinch my teeth. Hyact looks at me.

“Take your shirt off.” He says as he scrambles to his knees.

“I’m sorry what?”

“The board that had you pinned, pinned you because it was lodged in your side. Panicked or not if you had tried to lift yourself out, you would have punctured a lung. I don’t know how, when I pulled you out, the movement didn’t rupture something. But Zephra, if I don’t tend to this, it will heal, but I promise you, you will have a scar.”

I sit up, ignoring the pain and I put my hands over my head. “Off.”

As Hyact shimmies my shirt over my head I feel a stabbing pain and it grows by the minute.

“It shouldn’t hurt this much.” I lay back as gently as I can, but the room seems to tilt a little with the effort.

Hyact looks at me. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but you had a floor board embedded in your ribs. A few are probably cracked, but worst of all you have a hole in the side of your body that still has not started healing.”

“Ok, yeah I get it now.”

“Your blood is everywhere.” I try to ignore that Hyact’s fingers are exploring the flesh around my ribs, ribs- may I remind you- are right underneath your chest. Yup, ok so you get it now, good.

“It’s not obstructing my sight though. Never thought I’d be happy to see someone bleed clear before. But there is still so much of it, I can’t get the hole to close up.”

“What can I do to help?”

Hyact looks at me and shakes his head. “Give me your hands.” I hold my hands out and he twists one to hold my back and the other he places on my side. My finger tips touch something hard and slippery.

“Hyact what is that?”

“Your ribs.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah now you get it. Ok, Zephra it may hurt but I need you to push the two sides you are holding towards each other. Can you do that?”

I nod. He nods and I push. The pain...oh I can’t describe it. I grind my teeth to keep me from passing out. But I see plenty of stars. I don’t let up. The pain roars in my ears and I can’t hear anything else. Everything is tunnel-vision effort and I focus on the only thing I can see clearly, the lines in the wood floor.

I feel like the pain goes on forever. I try breathing through my nose and I can faintly feel my body rocking as Hyact works on the wound. I keep breathing and I know if something doesn’t give soon I will pass out and look like a fool. The slow rocking stops and I feel a wave of warmth stream through my body. I feel flush, like I am floating in a pool of hot water.

Hyact comes into my very limited line of vision. He puts his hand on my cheek and I smell blood. Then he holds the hand out to me and I grab it. Sound comes rushing back, but is accompanied by a ringing. I gasp but the pain immediately starts to ebb.

“Oh it doesn’t hurt any more.” I say airily.

“I gave you enough morphine to drown a horse. You probably won’t feel anything for a few hours.  Seriously Bonnie, I don’t know how you didn’t pass out from that. A greater man would have- shit I probably would have.”

"Weird Dream"

Written by Dale Spencer
Follow him on Twitter !
Or check out His Website;  (Coming May 2013)

Weird Dream:

I hate Monday mornings thinks Samantha. They’re the worst! She stares at the classroom

whiteboard. She yawns before resting her head on her desk.

“You’re dreaming,” exclaims a male voice.

She lifts her head. Weird. He’s not in our class. How come no one else seems to notice?

After blinking several times, she whispers, “Leave me alone.”

“No. Come with me.”

“Look. I didn’t sleep well last night,” says Samantha. Not to mention my so-called best

friend is twofaced! I can’t believe she said those things about me at Steve’s party.

“You never woke up. We have to go now!”

“What?”

He grabs her arm. “Samantha, your life is in danger.”

“Let me go, you psycho,” she looks around. No one is aware of their presence. Her forehead

creases, “I don’t understand...what’s going on?”

He rolls his eyes, “Just come with me. I’ll explain as we go.” Yanking her forward, he

drags Samantha through the classroom door. They rush down the empty hallway.

“Your dream…I’ve changed it. It won’t be long before he notices.”

“He?”

The boy doesn’t respond. He stares straight ahead.

She frees herself from his grasp, narrowing her eyes, “Hey, who are you? And what do you

mean I’m dreaming?”

“I’m Josh. Look, the one who did this to you wants you dead. But he can’t pull the plug on

your mind until you reach a blissful state.” He motions her to go on.

“Trust me,” she scoffs, “There’s nothing ‘blissful’ about this place.”

“Again, I altered your dreamscape. You were supposed to win a chance to be a singing

contender on a reality show. Everyone at your high school would admire you.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose that would change my mood.” She grins, “Especially if I got to rub it

in my former bestie’s face.” She pauses, “Why would anyone want me dead?”

“Your mother took something that doesn’t belong to her. A research associate of hers wants

to kill you and hold your older brother’s mind ransom until she returns it.”

“What did she take?”

“No time to explain. Let’s go!”

They rush outside. Josh stops, causing Samantha to bump into him.

A man stands before them. He gives them a glassy stare. “Joshua, what are you doing?”

Josh stays in front of Samantha. “I won’t let you do it. She’s innocent. She’s done nothing

wrong.”

“Fool! I told you to quit monitoring this girl’s dreamscape. Your obsession with her has

gotten out of hand.”

Samantha’s eyes widen. He’s been watching my dreams? She turns and sees Josh staring

down at his feet.

Josh reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hand gun. He cocks and aims it at the man,

“Sorry, Sam. When you left Friday night’s football game, I injected you with a serum that allows

us to monitor and control dreams. Please forgive me Say goodbye, Dr. Jenkins.”

“Are you crazy?!” gasps Samantha, but she does remember feeling a sharp sting on her arm

last Friday. So it wasn’t a bee.

“If you release her mind,” says Peter, “I’ll have you arrested possession of drugs. Isn’t that

why you agreed to help me in the first place? Don’t you want a clean record, boy?”

“Not at the expense of someone’s life.”

Samantha hears the sound of a bullet. Everything around her turns white, and she sees that

she’s sitting up in her own bed. She remains there for over an hour, contemplating school, her

social life, Josh, and whether or not she has been a victim of dream control.

A young man tosses a wrinkled shirt over his head. He stops in her doorway. “Shouldn’t

you be in school? Mom will be mad.”

She glances at her clock, “You’re late too. Let me guess. Today is ‘Senior Skip Day’?”

“I’ll take you to school if you keep your mouth shut about this.”

“Deal,” she grins. “Oh, and Andrew…”

“Yes?”

“Did you by chance have a weird dream last night?”

He lifts a brow up, “No. But you’re the weird one in the family.” He glances at his cell

phone, “Speaking of weird, have you heard the latest news? One of Mom’s co-workers, named Dr.

Peter Jenkins, was in pursuit of a troubled teen. He just got hit by a car and died. The kid

convinced the authorities that Jenkins was blackmailing him. It says here that Peter was giving his

test subjects drugs that induced dreamlike hallucinations without their permission. Several people

have already died from his experiments. He was working on a project related to oneirology.”

He pauses, “Before she left today, Mom told me that she planned to expose someone at

work for unethical practices. I wonder if she was referring to him. Weird, huh?”

Samantha clears her throat, “Yeah, weird.”