Category Archives: author

Good morning, Good Evening or Goodnight?

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I’m writing this as I put a self-imposed ban on social media. I have deactivated my IG, Threads, and TikTok to get my head right. I have contemplated quitting writing over the last month, but I sold a book recently, and my thriller, Disunion By Force, is selling well.

I needed time to get my head right. It’s been in a bad place, and while I like sharing my journey with my mental health, it appears that my family doesn’t like seeing me struggle. I haven’t posted my usual content. I have been writing reviews. I’ve enjoyed the distraction of writing reviews for the last year. I’ve read some fantastic books. I got most of them through NetGalley.

I am going to start submitting short stories again. I feel I’ve fallen off somehow, and short stories are a way for me to get my head back in writing. I have three books left to review for my NetGalley account. After I finish the books I have, I’ll be taking a break from doing reviews for a while.

I’ll be cleaning up 30-40 short stories for submission. Each is a horror story and fits into various subgenres.

I’m taking time for myself, which will exclude social media for a while.

I am playing World of Warcraft: The War Within with my wife. It’s a great expansion, and we’re both enjoying it. I’m currently reading Nobody’s Hero by M.W. Craven. It comes out in December and is one of the books I received on Netgalley.

I’m not really watching anything. I will be seeing Terrifier 3 in a couple of weeks. I saw Beetlejuice this past weekend for my youngest’s birthday. It was fun—not great, but fun. She really enjoyed it, and it was nice to spend time with my wife and kids.

My job at the bar has changed a bit. It was bought in July, and they’ve made some significant changes. The food is better, and the menu is more manageable. It’s a lot cleaner than before.

I work four shifts now. I only worked once every week before. It’s been slow as some of our regulars change as the bar changes. That’s fine. People change in every aspect of the life of a business.

I’m ready to get back to work on the page.

Moving ahead and through

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I’ve had this problem with who I am for a long time. Am I the kid whose parents divorced when he was eight and threw his world into shambles? Am I the 18 year old who was sent home from Marine boot camp?

I used to be really angry with my parents about their divorce. My mom left when I wasn’t home and nothing was explained to me. Her and two of my sisters just weren’t at our house anymore. We all went to therapy together, but it was a ruse, or at least felt like it to me. I knew something else was going one. I was eight. I had no idea the minds of adults.

Over time, I’ve grown to understand what they went through. That eight-year-old boy may not understand, but this 47 year old man does, and that’s good enough for me to move forward.

That 18 year old boy didn’t know what the hell was happening. He said something about his lungs. He didn’t have any lung issues, but had a reaction when he was working one night. He took that as something worse. It’s something he, and I, have had to deal with for almost 30 years. Sometimes the consequences of honesty are not what you expect. Sometimes they change your life. I’ve been angry with what I said that day. It’s taken a long time to forgive that boy. He’d barely experienced anything in his life. He’d barely lost his virginity(Something that was a big deal then, but not as much now). I think that boy needs to be forgiven. He wanted that title worse than anything. He didn’t know the consequences of his actions. He was just a kid who wanted to get away from his family.

I never planned to come home after boot camp, except to see my grandmother. She passed away while I would have been at boot camp. It’s a nice thing to say that if I’d have made it through boot I’d never have talked to her again. She visits me often. I don’t believe in things happening for a reason. It’s bullshit.

I see where my life is. I see that boy I was, both at eight and 18. He would be amazed we’re married, have kids, and writes books. Neither of them would have believed it.

It’s time to do something now that I’ve let them go. There’s a force in me that rears its head on occasion. I call it the monster. It’s been leashed for too long.

Let’s take it for a ride.

Finding me.

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After 13 novels and novellas, you’d think I’d found what I wanted to write. What I was good at or at least what I was interested in.

I did a writing class about finding an agent the other day. It was a good class, but what the writer said about finding their voice stuck with me. They limited what they wrote because, for some reason, they didn’t say. But it came out that those restricted things that they were doing dialed it back for publishing reasons. It limited who they were and what they wrote. It killed their voice.

I have written a vampire novel, a post-apocalyptic novel, a YA novel, an urban fantasy, two fantasy novels, a haunted house novel, a military/political thriller, and others I’ve forgotten.

You’d think I’d understand my voice by now. That I’d know what I should sound like on the page. I don’t know that I do. This is the hardest part of it. I loved writing all of those books. I enjoyed every page, and each character holds a special place. I’m not sure any of them are my voice. The urban fantasy or the military/political thriller comes the closest.

I love writing horror, but most of all, I love writing. I’m unsure what the future holds, but I’ll keep writing.

I’ll publish three books this year: two novellas and a collection. I have the covers and am dialing in the edits for all of them. I’ll post more when I have more to say.

Fear creeping in…

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I have this story, I believe I mentioned it on Wednesday. I haven’t written a novel-length story in a while. It’s freaking me out to have a story developing in my head this quickly. It usually takes a while, or at least until I’ve started for the story to lead me to places. This story hasn’t done that. It’s making me reevaluate how I write.

I’ve always written horror as a pantser. Well, mostly a pantser. I may write down scenes or sections that I know are coming later. This story is coming to me all at once. I’ve taken notes in my head. I know they haven’t gone anywhere. They’re there as I write this. I know the start, and parts of the middle, but it’s the other parts. The parts that are fully formed that I’m tripping over. I mean tripping as one does on LSD. It’s freaking me out.

I have moments of this story in my head. They won’t be quiet and I’ve lost sleep the last couple of nights over it. I wanted to do an outline for this one. I had intended to do that. As I write these words, this story is pushing me to get it down. I feel how I felt three years ago when I wrote Disunion, in which I wrote all 100k in a little over a month.

This story feels like that. I will probably start on it Monday. It’s taken me a week to get to this point. I know where the story goes it’s about getting to the end now.

I hope you’ll follow my blog. I feel better about it now. I feel better now.

The Fear Of Pushing Too Hard

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I have this fear. It rouses its ugly head every so often. I’m working on whatever project, then I think about how much harder I could be working on my writing, on my life, and other things.

This fear becomes complicit in my not pushing my projects when they come out. On not trying hard enough to edit. Each and every one of them deserves my attention, but then there’s this fear.

It tells me that if I work too hard, I’ll alienate those I care about. That they’ll not like me as much. That I’ll break those relationships. I’ve dealt with abandonment issues since childhood. It’s one of my overarching issues.

Within this fear is the worry that if I don’t work harder, what I write won’t go anywhere. I don’t care anymore if it makes money. I care someone gets something out of it. I don’t write for anyone but myself. Some people won’t care about you’re writing. Others will. I stopped worrying about those who won’t. I focus on those who will.

Writing Disunion By Force took me to a few places I hadn’t dared tread since my teenage years. I wrote this book for my teenage self. He read a lot of these kinds of books. Most of them to keep him sane, others to keep him from killing himself.

I found solace and a bit of peace writing this book. I’ve come a long way from the kid afraid of screwing up. He continues to pop up, but I’ve shoved him down a little. I know he’d enjoy this book. I know there were times he was done. Times when it was just him in an apartment reading, watching horror movies, and trying to keep his head above water.

I live through the fear of pushing too hard, but it comes out right. I write for us.