“The world is a comedy to those that think; a tragedy to those that feel.”
by Horace Walpole or Jean de La Bruyère
My introduction page as a writer trying to get publsihed and a collection of posts showing who I am through ancetdotal musings about my life or how I am inspired to write or why I write and how I write in my own wierd little way.
by Horace Walpole or Jean de La Bruyère
Need some volunteer Sketch artists, to help provide some Original simple art work drawings to accompany my collection of stories in my book I will be launching in e-book and paperback form this year.
The only thing I can offer in compensation at this time is artwork credit of any art used in the book. Please let me know if you are intrigued in participating in this little self-publishing project of mine. Sketch required from you would be no bigger than about approx. 3″ x 3″ area appropriate for use in mediums like the Kindle, Nook, and Small Paperbacks.
See below, TEN plus Stories to Draw from for the Artwork Submission ..:) . Contact me via EMAIL at philipwardlow@gmail.com
HOPE TO HEAR FROM YOU GUYS!
Flight through the Forest~ Marek is irreverent, a loner, a drunk more often than not, but most of all he knows how to fight and doesn’t mind bragging about his skills if you were to ask him about them. So when he finds himself in a dark forest of a jungle far from home on a mission for the king running for his very life, he wonders idly if he should retire from his warrior ways. If he survives that is.
Demon in the Details~ There is darkness in the world. At times it is blatant and unforgiving, at other times it’s subtle and veiled. Willie has been a party to that darkness; brought up in it, contributed to it even. Now he will run brush up against an aspect of a darkness never experienced and it may change him forever. But in what way?
The Summoning~ This fun little story has humor, suspense, magic, witches, a demon, a nicely mowed lawn and oh yes, an elephant in a pink tutu…:)
The Well~ Josephine knew it to be just an old dried up old well. Nothing more, nothing less. So why was she always filled with dread every early morning when she got up to use the outhouse nearby? Why did she imagine sounds coming from it when there surly were none? Why indeed.
Witch Hunt~ Halloween is a time for children to get lost in fantasy, roam the streets at night begging for candy and playing tricks on others. For Mitch it was a curse, one he could not escape, one he could not put off, for she would not allow it, she owed him heart and soul and there was nothing he could do about.
Time Stopped~ Time ticks and tocks….and he has the control of that clock…forwards and backwards time and time and again..yet he is always lost. And she may die yet again….
Fire Extinguished~ Worlds upon worlds in this vast universe harbor much life …. either good or bad…civilized or uncivilized… once such race determines who they wish to keep and who they do not keep in the grand scheme of life.
Bits and Pieces~ We all harbor secrets, little demons or large ones that we let no one else see in us. Sometimes we don’t even let ourselves see all the bits and pieces that make us up. When a man’s car breaks down in the middle of no where at night on a dirt road he will find truth at last.
Power in Me~ Angela felt the strange stirrings from within building , energies compelling her to find a release. Parts of it beckoned to her to draw upon it. To let it off its leash…to play….and she grinned wickedly at the thought while she cringed in parts of her mind from it at the same time.
Roadkill~ There are things which exist in this world that we never see; terrible things. Things with a history older than man…more intelligent than man… things to make the heart race. Things avoid at all costs if possible. But it wasn’t Adrian’s day apparently, for he ran right into on the road.
The Line Up ~ The murders seemed indiscriminate with no clear connection. But in his gut, Detective Diego felt there was one between them all. But he couldn’t see it. Now they had a witness to one of them and six women in a line up. Now he might finally find some answers before the next murder took place tonight.
Sinkhole~ Just another day in search of a job in the big city. Taking the Redline into Chicago, Tony had no idea his day would be anything but typical as the train car he rode in suddenly plunged some one-hundred plus feet into the darkness of the sinkhole below the city…
I plan on Self-Publishing 10 to 13 stories in a Collection in Electronic Format such as on the Kindle and other forms of electronic media and also produce a limited number of my book in Paperback form with real paper and everything … 🙂
That’s where some of you may come in. I am NEED of one of two things from some of you talented people out there in the world.
First thing I am need of, are proofreaders and/or readers/reviewers of my stories to tighten up my grammar and my typos, and to possibly catch any blatant writing pitfalls I might fall into from time to time, and to tell give me real feedback on each story in regards to critiquing them constructively. I will need a few people to help in this to expedite the process so I can get my collection ready for publication in regards to good story content by mid year which is fast approaching.
Second thing I am need of, are artists to provide me with small black and white sketches pertaining to each and every story. I will then sprinkle those pieces of art throughout the pages of the book to visually capture and entrance the eye and add a little bit of spice to the book 🙂
For both requests at needing your help, I am sorry to say I cannot compensate any who might help me in my endeavor. I will most assuredly will give credit where credit is due with each picture used in the book. I will also as part of the forward cite all the help I have received on the stories in regards to the editorial process put forth by anyone who has helped guide me to get this book out to try and making it the best it can be.
So please feel to contact me directly at my email address at philipwardlow@gmail.com if you wish to help me with this endeavor and I would be forever in your debt…:)
I want this Book to be something I can be proud of from the ground up and with your help I know I can make it happen. I have read many of your guys blogs and know you have much talent.
I am working diligently on finishing up a few of my stories and will be looking for help with the editing and review process as each are finished.
In regards to the Artwork needed, I will be writing a brief synopsis of each story or a description soon to this blog of what may be actually wanted for an image. I do want to give the artist free reign at thinking of something appropriate to capture the eye and also the spirit of the story. ( if the artist wishes upon request I can send them the entire story to read to really get a feel for what the piece of art might be)
So again, please feel free to contact me at philipwardlow@gmail.com if you are interested in helping me with my writing project… 🙂
Thanks again!
“Much may be done in those little shreds and patches of time which every day produces and which most men throw away.” ~ Charles Caleb Colton
Do you wish to know what lurks and crawls in this brain of mine? Do you wish to know the avenues it takes , the good and the bad, the beautiful, the bloody, the bombastic, and the golden moments that drown? Well welcome I say with a devilish grin wearing my suit of pure white for we are all aspects of all the shades that color the world.
YOU are not exempt. Perhaps in your readings of me and the stories you hear you will see a little into yourself, filtering out all the crap that seems that so often gets in the way of the truth that is you.
So read on, to three of my eclectic samples not quite finished in my future collection of the macabre, to the fun, to the poignant, to the mysterious “what if” of it all… 🙂
I ASK YOU, MY READERS, MY FOLLOWERS, TO PICK ONE OF THE THREE STORIES FOR ME TO FINISH BASED ON THE EXCERPT OF EACH BELOW.
****
Sebastian saw the woman sitting in her favorite spot yet again this early Saturday night. Always the same table, the one right at the edge of the dance floor and closest to the bar. She would start the night ordering drink after drink, usually a red wine sometimes a white and just stare ahead seemingly at nothing.
Hours would pass and the club would slowly fill with people and there she would be sitting. Alone. No man had ever approached her to ask her for a dance as she sat. Perhaps they were afraid to approach her, perhaps they thought she wanted to be left alone, perhaps they thought she was out of their league. Perhaps, the word, NO, was already written on her face before they ever would have approached to pose the question in the first place.
Sebastian knew secretly, if they had asked, she probably would have said yes to every one of them. But they never had. So she would sit and
watch them all dance from her place at the table. Watch, as the men and women moved on the floor to the seductive beat which pulsed and coursed through the club and bodies wanting to find release from the week’s drudgery called life. Sebastian knew their every whim, their every desire as he always did. They were an open book to him. All you had to do was listen.
This night however he only had ears for the woman who had come here every Saturday night for the last three weeks. Her name was Ms. Evelyn Greer , a pale face contrasted with short shoulder length dark auburn hair, green almond shaped eyes, and full red lips. If she were to ever break a smile he was sure it would have been stunning. A beauty of a woman, majestic in a certain way she held her self. But there was a dullness to her, muted was the word that came to mind, like a dimmer switch to a light turned way down low.
She was to be his tonight. She had marked been many nights ago. She was the one and she had only but to ask him to end her.
Joseph carefully placed the five white candles he had just purchased into the big brown suitcase amidst the other items he had already collected. He hands went to close the suitcase but instead they caressed a black leather bound book which lay inside. His eyes went wide and his pupils dilated ever so slightly as he stared at it. He traced the raised symbol on its cover emblazoned in red with his index finger. His finger ran along the entire perimeter of the symbol at all its five points where the continuous line was traced. The symbol was five lines in the form of a star where each point touched the raised circle which surrounded it, what a lovely symbol he mused. Could there be anything more perfect he wondered. A sly smile came to his lips because for all his studies he new the true power of that symbol while others only thought they knew. He had become an adept at the mysteries of it.
“Joseph!” a woman’s voice called to him in a wail from somewhere downstairs in the house.
“Joseph, what the hell are you doing? Spaghettis all done! Christ on a crutch, move your ass!” she yelled again. Joseph could almost picture the spit flying from her mouth as she yelled at him. Fucking fat cow. He would be glad when he was done with her. Joseph couldn’t
remember choosing such a bitch of a woman for a wife but he must have, for she lived in his home and occasionally wanted to have sex because of that damn ring on her finger and his own. The weight of the ring seemed to increase more everyday. He wanted to stuff it down her damn throat. It was maddening. No more, no fucking more. Tomorrow, Joseph’s life was about to change.
“Joseph!” she wailed again.
Joseph slammed the suitcase shut, secured the latches and locked them by rotating the combination on each with his thumbs all at once.
“Coming Elizabeth!…..you bitch.” Joseph said the last to himself in a whisper as he tucked the suitcase deep up under his side of the bed and quickly got up to go downstairs for dinner. He would suffer through it with the heifer just for one more night. Spaghetti was his favorite he thought idly to himself.
Three ping pong balls revolved in midair, each one following the other in a tight circle as they flew.
“I shouldn’t be able to be doing this Carl!” she yelled at the bald little man, sitting across the table from her in the kitchen of her house. Carl was wearing a smug little grin on his face that annoyed the hell out of her. He was always full of himself, today more than usual. He knew something he wasn’t telling her. Shit! She was losing her concentration. One of the balls slipped out of its rotation and fell.
“True and not true,” he replied back glibly to her, as he deftly caught the fallen ball with his left hand inches before it hit the table.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked, her eyes staring ahead at the two remaining balls still rotating in front of her. She thought of a figure eight, and immediately the balls begin to swirl in that configuration. It was equally cool and frightening at the same time, she thought, but Carl didn’t have to know that.
“Angela, you have taken to this extremely well. It seems you are a natural. I have to give our co-workers credit. They were betting you would do well the first time right out the gate. Not many can pull off even one ball this quickly, let alone three. Guess I will have to pay up when I get back to the office.” Carl chuckled to himself, rolling the little white ball he had caught, back and forth between his hands on the dining room table still smiling at her smugly.
Angela took her eyes from the two remaining balls which spun and looked directly at Carl.
“You mean there are others who can do this? Out with it Carl, I’m sick of the games. You’ve been playing them too long, first with my husband now with me. Be straight for once, or for god sakes I’ll shove these balls down your goddamn throat.”
Carl’s smiled slipped a little her under dark stare. Carl involuntarily swallowed when he suddenly realized the balls were still continuing to spin in their figure eight pattern without her looking at them. Damn, she is good, he thought. But she didn’t have to know that; she was arrogant enough as it was. A lot like him more or less, he thought, but still soft.
“Well.” Angela said to him, more of a command than a question.
Carl ignored her tone. “You remember that project three years ago that kept Scott away so many hours at night?”
She remembered all too well, the late nights, and all the arguments that followed, telling her he couldn’t discuss his work with her because she didn’t have the clearance. It still rankled her a little still to this day. Angela only nodded as she looked at him as the balls continued to spin, so Clark continued.
“We had found something amazing. To be more exact it found us. One of the lab geeks directed to synthesize some of the proteins from a plant brought back from Brazil accidentally combined two cultures in the synthesis we were working on with the lot. The other plant was from an older expedition we had done years ago in the Congo in Africa. Scott himself had pulled it from the incubator a few days later. Lot forty-two.”
Angela noticed Carl’s eyes dilating as his hand gestures became more animated as he spoke. This disturbed her for some reason and she didn’t know why.
“Oh, the things Lot Forty-two revealed to us Angela!” Carl found it hard to contain himself as he talked.
“We didn’t know how much until we began the human trials. You did not know this, but Scott your husband, was one of the first volunteers. The committee had been paranoid of it getting out to the general public so everything was done in house; very hush, hush.”
“I am sorry to say this Angela, but he was a fool.” Carl said flatly to her from across the table.
Angela’s eyes suddenly flared from a dull to electric green.
An invisible force compressed against Carl’s chest, to send him flying and to go slamming into the wall behind him. Plaster crumbled around his head and tumbled off his nice black suit coat he wore.
Now I am going to have to go to the dry cleaners tomorrow, Carl thought idly….

By Philip Wardlow 2016
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Health, Reflection, and Poetry for the Journey of Life
Dating, Poetry, and More
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
poetry, fiction, and musings
Poetry
Erotic Fantasies
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Design, and Pottery
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants. It's all about the books we read
weird alien 👽
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Health, Reflection, and Poetry for the Journey of Life
Dating, Poetry, and More
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
poetry, fiction, and musings
Poetry
Erotic Fantasies
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Design, and Pottery
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants. It's all about the books we read
weird alien 👽