Wednesday, November 21, 2018

Happy Thanksgiving!...

I cannot believe how fast this year has flown by...

It's been one crazy week after another! I guess it's true, that when you're busy, the time moves faster.

So, I know a lot of people do the 30 days of Thanks for this month. Along with NaNoWriMo.

I have not done either.

I hope to do NaNo again some year. I loved it. But the 30 days of Thanks... Here is what I am thankful for:

Every single thing in my life. The stress, the work, the fun, the laughter, the tears. Everything. My children, my grandchildren, my family, my husband and even my cats. I can honestly say I am at a point in my life where I am at peace. I'm settled. Yes, I still wake up cranky and snarky. I have days of pain and days of rest. But I would not change much of anything about my life right now.

How about you? What are you Thankful for? What are your plans? Travelling?

I hope you all have a safe and happy holiday and I'll see you after Black Friday. !!!

Friday, November 9, 2018

I Love Friday!...

Phew! Made it to the end of another week. Barely. But I made it!

How about you? How did your week go? Has it ended already or not quite yet?

My plans for this weekend will be more work on my house. I am going to work on getting some good pics of everything that has been updated and then share.

In the meantime, let's do some Funnies!

All right, folks! Have a great weekend and if you're doing NaNoWriMo - I wish you luck!

Wednesday, November 7, 2018


I'm back to the IWSG post! Woohoo! If you want to know more about this or want to find the list of other participants, please visit Alex J. Cavanaugh's blog here.

This month, the optional question is:

How has your creativity in life evolved since you began writing?

I am choosing to do my own insecure thing this month.

Over the last few years, I have quietly been working with Midian Entertainment on a massive project. It hasn't been until recently that we've been allowed to share, do book cover reveals, etc.

My role in all of this is basically a writer, an editor, a publisher, and an adviser. I'm also currently acting as a marketing manager, trying to build a following on Twitter without really having given the public much to look at and go all on faith.

I wear a lot of hats. My writing has sort of come to a standstill due to multiple reasons. I'm not complaining, I'm just wanting to get back to it.

My constant fear is, will everything I've done be good enough? Will this just bomb entirely and if it does, how will it affect me? I'm pretty sure I know how it will affect me...  and it won't be good.

I have grown as a writer over the last several years. I've worked to hone my craft. I just haven't been able to put anything out into the world until now to prove that. So will I still be viewed as a hack fantasy writer who couldn't cut it so she self published? I still don't have the third book finished! Which... is in the works.

See? Lots of insecurities as I step into these new roles in my writing career.

How about you? Comment down below. And don't forget to visit the other participants!

Have a great day!

Friday, November 2, 2018

3 Flash Fiction Stories...

I'm on a mission to take over the #WeAre on Twitter. We use it more for The BREED writings and such more than those football fans do. And at the moment, I'm on the fence about some of the players. But that's a political post I don't want to get into!

Instead, I bring you 3 flash fiction pieces from Midian authors, David Rex Bonnewell, Midge Cline and John H. Howard. Enjoy!

John H. Howard:

Screeching awoke Gillian from a sound sleep. In her dreams, it had been the wailing of a mother grieving a dead child, a bitch mourning pups pulled too soon from the teat, the anguish of a tormented soul ripped from the world prematurely. In waking, the sound was worse. It seemed to be coming from just outside.

She slipped from the warmth of her bed and crept on bare feet across the cool wooden floor to investigate. She met her bleary-eyed father in the hallway, 12-gauge in his hand.

“What’s that sound, Da?”

“Sounds like a wolf, Gill.”

“You’re not going to kill it, are you?”

“Dunno about you, but I can’t sleep with all that howling outside my window.”

“Da, please don’t kill it. Miss Beck says it’s bad luck to kill a wolf.”

“Why you been talking to that ol’ witch? I don’t want her filling yer head with such nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense. Da, please.”

Mr. MacLeod grunted noncommittally as he unlatched the kitchen door.

Outside stood the largest wolf Gillian had ever seen. It bared its teeth and growled as Gill and her da appeared. Its eyes glowed hellfire red.

The screeching came again, but it wasn’t the wolf. Gillian’s gaze was drawn upward.

Hanging under the eaves was a woman clad in filthy gray rags. The horrible keening sound was coming from her.

“Dear Christ!” her da yelled. He fumbled with the shotgun, not knowing where to aim it.

Gillian tugged his arm, frantically seeking to return to the safety of the house.

The gun fell from his hands.

A deafening bang and a blinding flash of light.

The keening stopped. As Gill’s eyesight returned, the image of the banshee’s grinning face was imprinted upon her memory, even as the specter itself faded. The hellhound was gone, as was her father’s body.

As the tears came, one thought entered her head: He said the monsters weren’t real.


Midge Cline:

She held her breath, peering through the cracks of the closet door, praying they did not see her hiding there. Fear engulfing her as silent tears, left streaks through the dirt on her face. She fought to stay silent while she watched them thrust their blades into her father’s heart. She swallowed hard as the men slowly rose from the lifeless body which once held her father’s soul.

The masks were terrifying. Demonic` masks of red and black appeared to be made by Hollywood professionals. Even the eyes glowed with an iridescent red in the window light. The man threw his head back with an animalistic howl before he descended once more and began devouring her father’s flesh. He was eating him! Gnawing, ripping sounds filled the air. A sob escaped her lips. One of the men raised his head, he had heard her! He rose and stepped toward the closet door. He thrust open the door, finding her cowering in fear on the floor. His strong arms lifting her as she struggled. 

It was then she discovered he wore no mask. His demonic grin revealed uneven, haggard fangs where teeth should have been. Pain seared through her flesh as the realization wracked her soul. Demons had killed her family, and now her. Demons are real.


David Red Bonnewell: (Extended Version)

Little Dillan kicked at a can as he strolled somberly down the street. Halloween was just around the corner, yet he was haunted by dread. This feeling did not arise from the holiday itself, for little Dillan loved Halloween. The problem was that he had no mask worthy of the special day, nor the money to buy one. Sure, little Dillan tried making his own mask. Many times, in fact. Why, he put the very spirit of Halloween into each one! But none could satisfy. Then little Dillan saw his salvation. It lay half-buried in a heap of garbage in the corner of the street, glinting in the moonlight like a beacon. 

Little Dillan shooed away the rats that were hungrily gnawing away at the food and filth that had dried onto the discarded mask. Little Dillan spit-polished the gem of a find with an old rag. Moments before putting it on, he noticed the name KAJA scrawled on the inside. Little Dillan projected what most terrified an old man nearby, and relished in his reaction.

He saw himself in a tall, oval mirror. His reflection soon became a rotting corpse. It stepped out of the mirror and gave chase. The old man hobbled away into the night, ever screaming, “It’s not my time!” Others looked at him and thought, Crazy old man. Little Dillan thought nothing more of it, instead feeling anxious to do some trick or treating. He rang the doorbell of the nearest house and held out his small hands. A woman answered. Little Dillan said, “Trick or treat!” 

“Halloween’s days away, sweetheart. I don’t have any candy for you. I’m sorry,” said the woman. “Trick,” moaned Dillan, and he relished in her nightmare before moving onto the next house as darkness (and madness) continued to fall on the city.