Archive of Horror – Check out GoreGirl the Queen of Horror Reviews!


With Halloween fast approaching scary movies are always a must…if you have anything like access to Netflix or like digging through $1.00 to $10.00 cheapy movies  in the Bargain Bin at Walmart, Best Buy, or whatever and you run across a Horror flick,  chances are Goregirl has done a review on it…check out her Horror Archives on various reviews of Horror Flicks she has done herself before you waste your money & perhaps 90 minutes of your time….

She is truly dedicated to the craft that is horror.  Her direct home page is also here, so go ahead. What are you afraid of? She won’t bite.

Write what you know…but what do you know?


People always say in writing, write what you know, write what you know.   First, I am not sure what I know . There are a lot things bouncing around up there that I’m not even privy to until my hands hit the keyboard or the ink sticks to the paper.

I know a few  things . I know I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer  but neither am I the dullest. I don’t hail from a  major college like Harvard, Yale, or MIT,  but I do know how to enquire, to investigate , to search and use the tools at my disposal. I  have not traveled the world over experiencing and knowing wonderous places and cultures but I do know I can daydream like nobody’s business and  that gets me there just fine.

I do know one thing very well;  at least I think I like to think I know.  And that’s people.  One such people is my wife.  (and yes that was on purpose)

For anyone who follows me on here you know that I mentioned that my wife underwent a major surgery back in Mid-July.  Since I have known her my wife has been a very strong woman;  in willpower and spirit anyways, unfortunately her body just doesn’t always want to agree with her at times  it seems.

I will not wax on to much on how this is her fourth ambdominal surgery in the last twenty years,  and that each surgery is very invasive and painful for her, with each having a long recovery time.  She is without a  doubt one of the strongest women I know.  She could be Wonder Woman’s  twin sister with blonde hair as far as I’m concerned (especially in the chest area) but I digress.

I just wanted to relay that sprinkled throughout  our life and time together, I found how truly strong and courageous she is. Each heroic moment from her  has inspired me to this day in my l writing for what I want any strong  person I write about to be like and exemplify.

This type of character is  a no-brainer for me. This character lives with me everyday and I am happy she has chosen this seat next to me on this  magical train called life to take us to wherever we wish to go.

She is but one character in my life that I look to for inspiration but she is by far the most important. She anchors it all down.

 Love this picture cuz it fits my wife perfectly..:)

 

And this one below…I loves me some Wonder Woman what I can say…

 

 

My Free Download Campaign Success for my story Epublished Story Roadkill


Hello guys,

Wanted to personally thank any of my followers and readers who took advantage of the Free Download period for my epublshed book “Roadkill” this past weekend on Amazon….I thought it was a pretty successful campaign.  My goal was to let people see what I”m all about as a writer and get a little of exposure in the process.

Plus, I thought it would be a great segue into future stories that I will be coming out with. One will be called “A Fire to Extinguish”, a science fiction story about a caveman who may very well decide the fate of the planet himself. The second story is a Dark Urban Fantasy, called “The Grate“. It’s about a man who has literally fallen into a world of war and evil where he must play the reluctant hero or just die.

Look for these titles on here as excerpts and then on Amazon later in there complete epublished format…I hope to grow in the minds of people that I am a serious and more importantly good writer of Dark Fantasy and speculative fiction..here’s to many more great stories ahead…you can never have enough.

Thanks…..Philip Wardlow

Kurt Vonnegut 8 Basics of Writing


 

  Kurt Vonnegut 8 Basics of Writing

Kurt Vonnegut created some of the most outrageously memorable novels of our time, such as Cat’s Cradle, Breakfast Of Champions, and Slaughterhouse Five. His work is a mesh of contradictions: both science fiction and literary, dark and funny, classic and counter-culture, warm-blooded and very cool. And it’s all completely unique.

With his customary wisdom and wit, Vonnegut put forth 8 basics of what he calls Creative Writing 101: *

  1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.
  2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.
  3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.
  4. Every sentence must do one of two things—reveal character or advance the action.
  5. Start as close to the end as possible.
  6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them—in order that the reader may see what they are made of.
  7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.
  8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

The greatest American short story writer of my generation was Flannery O’Connor (1925-1964). She broke practically every one of my rules but the first. Great writers tend to do that.

* From the preface to Vonnegut’s short story collection Bagombo Snuff Box

Above  Article was borrowed directly from: http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1colHt/:1HF83LM3C:SFvA-CL-/www.writingclasses.com/InformationPages/index.php/PageID/538/

“Roadkill” for FREE this weekend!


Roadkill Story on Amazon

FIRST thing I want to say is,  I am NOT  handing out  any dead skunks, raccoons.possums or any other such  dead creatures to you…

What I am going to make available to you for download is a great little dark story  for you to cozy up  to….

If you are new to my website you may not have realized that I Epublished a book to Amazon that sells for $2.99,  called you guest it, “Roadkill”.

If you look to the right of this article,  you will see a direct link to that story on Amazon’s website. You can also click here or above.

Starting TOMORROW on Friday, August 31st  through Sunday Sept 2 it will be available for FREE for anyone to download.

You don’t need a kindle to download it and read it but you will  probably need to download Amazon’s small Kindle app program for viewing on your PC before being able to download and read the story. Other than that it’s a piece of cake.

I personally don’t own a Kindle myself but I found you can, by using this simple downloadable software have access to  free or very very cheap entertaining stories or even full lengths  books through Amazon downloaded  to your computer permanently.

Amazon allows writers/epublishers to schedule up to a total of  five free days of free access to other Amazon users for download of their published works as part of their marketing program. I thought it would be a great idea for my followers  and anybody who finds me in the blogosphere to take a look at what I’m all about as a writer and hopefully pass my name along to friends and family.

I am at work on two other stories and a novel of which I wish to complete and put out there as epublished books  in addtion to turning them into publishers and contests for consideration.

So check it out… as long as nothing is glitchy over at Amazon you should be able download it tomorrow for free, and of course Saturday and Sunday.

And definitely let me know what you think of the story after you have finished reading it. It would be great if you gave me a review on Amazon as well.  You can find an excerpt here to get a feel for the story to see if its something you might be interested in.

If you like urban fantasy and a touch of horror entertwined with some suspense added in then you  just might like this little story.

Let’s Play what is your earlierst Human memory…Here’s mine.


I remember moving into our new house and there were curtains hanging over the front living room windows when we walked in.  My mom opened them up to let in more light into the room and two bats came flying out…it scared the shit out of my mom…but I thought it was the coolest thing…I was about four or five years old.

So fellow followers or readers of my great blog what is YOUR earliest memory. Please please please let me peak into your mind just a little….:)

Thanks

Crushed Box – A Snippet from a little boy’s life


I was nine years old and my brother Sam was eight. It was a late Sunday afternoon on a warm bright blue sky day in the middle of May. We were both smiling and grinning ear to ear because we had just scored the biggest prize ever in our little lives. A gigantic box, longer in all it’s in dimensions than we were in height, it was a monster. We had just pulled it out of a CARTON ONLY dumpster behind the factory building pretty close to where we lived.

It was to be a grand addition to our makeshift fort we already had built in our backyard from the previous day. We couldn’t believe how lucky we were. We only had a block left to drag it, and it was heavy work. It wasn’t every day something like this came along so we were very determined to get it home.

As my brother and I pushed and prodded the behemoth of a box down the street my little mind was already working furiously to figure how it would be cut and worked into our current structure. I was thinking this was going to be command central for all the adventures for the days to come.

“What’s the box for Felix?” a voice in front of us asked as it approached us barring our progress down the street.

I poked my head from around the box and groaned inwardly.

Three boys stood there directly in our path down the sidewalk, two of them were Anton and Anthony, eight year old identical twins, led by their twelve-year-old big brother named Terence. They were our neighbors about three houses down from us.

I hated them. They took delight in making me and my brother’s life miserable at any turn they could find when they ran across us.

For example, once I had been given a watermelon by my mother’s friend who had grown it in her garden. She had lived down the street some four houses away from our own. (Yep right next to Terence’s). I was walking home with it clutching it in both arms with my little hands wrapped around it tight. My mom loved watermelon she was going to love this nice surprise. Suddenly, I was pushed hard from behind. I stumbled and fell forward watching the watermelon fly from my arms and end up in broken chunks all over the hot summer cement of the sidewalk. I didn’t look back at who had done it. I knew. I ran home crying with their laughter at my back.

Terence approached us and our box with the twins in tow. He was tall for his age and even slightly muscular. His dark skin was darker than mine by ten times as much. I always thought of my mom and how she took her coffee, black with two sugars but no cream when I looked at him. Me, I was cream poured in you might say, because I guess my mom had been white and my dad was black whereas I knew both of Terence’s parents were black. I knew that much back then I guess. My hair was jet black, slightly wavy and cut short against the side of my head while Terence’s dark black hair was braided and pulled tight against his scalp in what most black people called cornrows. The braids trailed down the side of his head and to the back until they came out from his head hanging down to his shoulders. He smiled a friendly smile as he walked over to me but I knew it was fake.

He put a hand gently on the box, and looked up at it appraising it with his eyes.

“It’s ours.” I blurted out, regretting it the moment I said it. Terence didn’t like it when you were defiant.

“It’s our now.” He simply said and came up to me and pushed me out-of-the-way where I fell to the ground hard. He nodded at his two brothers who took it as a sign to rush the box.

I got up and grabbed my brother’s hand and walked quickly away down the street. At the time, I told myself I was protecting my younger brother but inside I knew different. Fear had always been my friend. The farther I was away from them the less scared I became and the angrier I got. Then Terence yelled out to me and my brother asking if we wanted our box back.

We turned back to them thinking just for an instant that he might actually mean it. I took one hesitant step back towards them.

Then they laughed and started to destroy the box. They kicked at it, punched it, and ripped at the joints and corners with their hands, all the while laughing like it was the biggest joke in the world. Finally the box collapsed in on itself with all the beating it had undergone. Terence then climbed on top of it and began to jump up and down crushing with his feet. His brothers joined into until it was just a mangled piece of paperboard on the ground.

All the while this was happening; I stood there holding my younger brother’s hand as he began to cry next to me. A thunder began to roll in me with all the momentum of a giant wave rolling towards the shore. Gathering, gathering, collecting in strength until it would crash.

“You nigger!” I yelled with all the power my little voice could carry. I put behind the word all the hurt I felt, all the anger that had built up over the months, days and weeks of their constant bullying. I put it all into that one word and flung it like a rock straight at him. Some instinct inside told me that this one word would work and I had grabbed it and used it without thought.

“What did you call me?!” he asked. He wasn’t laughing anymore. He looked stunned.

I yelled it again and again. My mind railed the word over and over inside my head.

He didn’t make a move to chase me. He just stood there with his arms at his sides and fists clenched and then calmly but loudly yelled at me. “Tomorrow on the way home from school, I’m gonna get you then!” was all he said. Then he and his brothers simply walked away towards home leaving the crushed box in the middle of the sidewalk.

I walked home scared. I went to sleep scared. I woke up scared. I went to school scared. I sat in class all day scared. Then the bell rang to go home.

It was about a ten to fifteen minute walk from school to my house. Terence was a middle schooler and got out earlier than me nearby in the same neighborhood. I knew he would be waiting for me somewhere along the way home. If I was quick and ran nonstop all the way home, he might not even see me to catch me. So I ran.

I ran past friends in the hall not saying a word, I busted through the double doors of the school and sprinted across the street ignoring the crossing guard who yelled at me saying I was going to be in trouble tomorrow when I came back to school. I thought to myself I’m trying to stay alive today so I can come back to school tomorrow.

I didn’t look to my left I didn’t look to my right. I just ran like a bullet towards home with my target being my front door. I dodged my way around slow-moving kids in my way, at the next street I crossed against the light beating out a car turning the corner earning me a blaring horn in my ear.

Up ahead was the street next to my own. All I had to do was to cross it and then make a quick cut through the parking lot between the restaurant and the Goodwill Store and I was home free. No sign of Terence. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he never intended to show; maybe he was more talk than anything else.

I crossed the street in a run but slowed to a quick walk when I hit the sidewalk and entered the parking lot. I could see my house across the short field from the parking lot. I felt a small cocoon of safety settle over me seeing my home in sight.

Then there he was out of nowhere like he had appeared from thin air; right in from of me at the very edge of the parking lot. He ran at me. I couldn’t move. My mind screamed to run but my body didn’t want to cooperate. He grabbed the top of my shirt near my neck with both hands and shoved me heard against a parked car.

His eyes were wide and brown and they burned into me. I could almost feel the pressure from them pushing against my own.

“Why did you call me that!” he yelled at me pushing me hard again against the car.

“I don’t know I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was mad. I’m sorry.” Tears started to come into my eyes.

He held me against the car just staring into my eyes. Then I saw something different in his than what I had just before. It wasn’t anger or menace. It was pain. Pain showed in his eyes. Deeply. I felt it to my core.

“I’m sorry Terence. I never should have said it. I never will again I promise, I promise. I’m sorry.” and I meant it to. I didn’t say it from fear. I had said it because in the end I truly was sorry. Yes he was a bully, and he treated my bad but he didn’t deserve what I had said. I felt ashamed of myself in that instant with his eyes looking back at me full of pain. I never thought he could feel pain, never thought it could touch him. No, that’s a lie, I told myself in that instant. I knew it could touch him, that’s why I had said it, but I had chosen to ignore what I had done.

I hung my head.

He let me go, hands slowly releasing me to fall down at his sides.

“See that you never do say it again.” he said and walked away.

I stood there in the parking lot for quite a while, not moving, and barely breathing with my head still hanging down staring at the ground.

I found the strength to pick my head up and realized as I made my slow walk home I didn’t know myself at all.

The End

The Dark Tree – A Poem


It swayed and creaked in

the wind.

The black silken crows

gave a queer semblance of

life to the tree,

Its bare branches covered

with a multitude perched like

the clinging of leaves.

It swayed and it creaked

and spoke of its sins,

Dark feathers fluttered,

as if to  fool a passerby’s eye

that life still dwelt in the trees dead limbs.

None made a sound, not a caw

not a screech, no  utterance did they speak;

for you see they had  been given a task long ago,

to bear silent witness to the migration

of lost souls.

For no man,

should ever die alone.

So they perched and they preened

as the body swayed and creaked

on the rope below.

by Philip Wardlow

The me you see… – A Poem


The me you see, is just a pale umbra of whom I’m supposed to be.

I’m just a toad at the wall who can’t make the jump up,

I try and I try and I just bounce off.

It’s a cliff so sheer and high that it’s a trick to defy the eye.

But what I really don’t know is that I’m just a toad in the road

and it’s just a small curb on a street I’ve come up against.

I tell myself one more jump…kerplunk!

My little toad head hurts like hell from all the bashing

against the wall it’s felt.

If I can just find a crack and crawl in and wind my way up.

But that would require luck…fuck

Where the hell am I going to get any of that?

So I’m a toad,

not a frog a princess can kiss.

Sorry no prince underneath  miss

But I will be the prince of toads one day

So fuck the frog I say!

and I look for that crack in the wall,

no matter how small.

R. A. Douglas

Dream big! Live bigger!

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Erotic Poetry and Stories

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TheFeatheredSleep

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A Place to share My Love for Painting, Life and my Wandering Mind

All Thoughts Work™ Outdoors

Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013

unbolt me

the literary asylum

Just read

Reviews, raves, and rants it's all about the books we read

Musings of a mad woman

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ReclusiveDreams

writing what my mind tells me and what my heart feels

World of Horror

A place for writers and book lovers

Elan Mudrow

The Ridges of Intertextuallity

Exclusive Inflictions

by Kelly Lewis

R. A. Douglas

Dream big! Live bigger!

Erotic Yearnings

Erotic Poetry and Stories

STROKE(d)

journal

TheFeatheredSleep

Tigers not daughters

VIVID LENS VIEW

Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...

Awapara Art

A Place to share My Love for Painting, Life and my Wandering Mind

All Thoughts Work™ Outdoors

Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013

unbolt me

the literary asylum

Just read

Reviews, raves, and rants it's all about the books we read

Musings of a mad woman

Bipolar is my superpower

ReclusiveDreams

writing what my mind tells me and what my heart feels

World of Horror

A place for writers and book lovers

Elan Mudrow

The Ridges of Intertextuallity

Exclusive Inflictions

by Kelly Lewis

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