It’s October – my Faaaaaaaaaaaaaavorite month of the year! What are you going to be on Halloween?


I do bake  a killer Pumpkin pie.   But I do not wear this outfit above while doing it…not a  pretty site. Now my wife has been known to wear many a risque outfits….she could definitely pull off the one above.

That’s my lead in to my next question….DOES ANYONE PLAN ON WEARING A COSTUME THIS YEAR AND GO TO A PARTY OR TAKE YOUR LITTLE ONES FOR A WALK IN THE STREETS TO BEG FOR CANDY?

Cuz my wife and I live for any  chance to wear a costume on Halloween.

We have been James Dean & Marilyn Monroe, Vintage Baseball Players, Wonder Woman & Superman/Clark Kent,1970’s Couple, Zombies, Crazed Scarecrow and a Cat, Stranded Space Alien,Family of Vampires (son got in on this one),The Carnival Master in Something Wicked this Way Comes, Monster from The Village Movie,etc

This year what are we are going to be?  We will probably be rehashing the James Dean and Marilyn Monroe costumes we still have….they were fun.. perhaps I will be James Dean after the accident…still deciding on that one…:)

That leads to another question. What costumes have you worn in the past or have ever wished to wear but never have?

Any embarrassing Halloween stories to share?

Ever  been chased by Bigfoot on Halloween?  I have.  That’s a story for another day…

Every year WE  buy the pumpkins…WE draw the faces on them and then I cut them open  and then I  scoop out the brains and do all the work…cuz it’s just to gross to stick your hand in something so sticky …(we won’t go there pervs)

 Us as James Dean and Marilyn from a few years back…

Killer Pumpkins – A poem for Halloween


Killer Pumpkins

Ba dump…ba dump…ba ba dump.

Bump…

Bump…

They roll.

They stroll

down the streets;

orange and angry.

Why do they roll?

Why are they not in bed,

with green leaves as blankets

To cover their orange ripply heads.

I suppose they’re pissed off

for being left behind

in the patch.

What the fuck was wrong

with them, they ask.

It’s Halloween and they’ve

waited long enough.

Knives in hand with

grins carved in,

ready to show

the little tricker-treat bastards

a real killer

pumpkin.

So they roll

and they stroll

down the street.

Ba dump.

Ain’t no rest for the wicked….really I’m not that wicked except wicked good!


Ain’t no rest for the Wicked” Yes that’s the title of my BLOG….I picked the  title for several reasons….

One because I really liked the song of the  same name  by the rock band, Cage the Elephant,  check out the video here if you haven’t heard or seen it.

Second reason I picked ” Ain’t no rest for the Wicked” you might say is my anthem for my writing endeavors….cuz you see it’s almost 1:00 am in the morning and I’m burning the midnite oil ( past midnight actually) to finish this damn story that I want to meet a deadline on..

I have been writing for a few hours..so I need a rest and little distraction(see my previous blog about distractions in writing) ..so here I am…I have also been checking other bloggers out on the  web as well. For instance I ran across one who wrote a post  about Spanking Monkeys and a Adult Dora the Explorer Movie …a humorous blogger at Lady or Not Here I Come . Sometimes for me as a writer you need a little humor to lighten the mind up when writing on serious subjects. It frees me up to keep going when my words start to snag on a scene in a story. I need a dose of cold water down the back  you might say to let the inspiration bug in.

The last reason I picked Wicked is because well ….because I’m wicked like the Devil….noooooooooooo…I don’t even believe in the Devil, Lucifer,or Satan, Bezelbub, Voldemort or any of those other incarnations of an idea we seem we have to put a face and name to feel more comfortable for why we do things to ourselves and to the world around us.

No the reason I picked it is because Wicked can mean ” to place or show very intense emphasis on a subject or action.”   Like that car was wicked  cool  or wicked fast…or that girls skirt she was wearing oh my..  was wicked tight..did you see her? That test was to wicked hard…I am so gonna fail it…

See? Understand? That’s the kinda writer I wanna be a Wicked one.

I am going back to work now…it’s been a fun break!

A Tidbit to my Novel I’m working on…and how my own characters must hate me.


I am always thinking of the next best story….but that thinking distracts me from the actual story I’m working on at that time….

I so often will get from anywhere three to eight pages into a story I’m working only to find myself having to put it down  (temporarily mind you)  to start on whole new idea.  I JUST have to start on it or else it will just leave my brain never to return…I have get into the idea for a few pages…I just have to…or else I’ll lose it…I just know it.

In the past few months,  I have been working on three stories and my novel…I love all four stories equally in their own way.

Needless to say ALL four have been suffering from lack of real attention….One of my characters has been sitting in  a deep dark hole and is bruised and battered  and very afraid and desperate to get out of his predicament (he doesn’t know how much trouble he’s really in…..he he)  Oh just you wait my dear friend .  He’s been lying there for a weeks waiting for his story to go forward.

I have a cast of characters in one story in various stages of their life waiting to accomplish deeds of heroism or not so  very not heroic acts…one guy has killed his wife…the other is a prisoner by small demons …and another is about to do something awful to himself at school and all their worlds are destined to collide….sounds interesting huh…I bet you wish you could read this one…me to… They’ve been in stasis for a few weeks as well.

I’ve got these other two characters and they’ve been moving….(in molasses but they have been moving,  and the story is oh so close to be finished..I can’t wait to show to you it on here….but I think they all are  really starting to hate me…I mean if I were them I would …..I’ve trapped them in limbo…I’ve got to get them out….I can hear them calling to me in my sleep when I dream..

Have you felt ever felt that way about your characters for not finishing their story fast enough? (or not at all!)

Well  I am regaining focus and I am going to finish all those damn stories by hook or  by crook (I’ve always loved that phrase)

Also here and below  is a small opener to my very first full length Novel entitled tentatively “The Thing Under the Bridge” that I plan on finishing by – cross your fingers –  the end of January 2013. It will be a Young Adult Category Novel in the Urban Fantasy Genre

Excerpt from “The Thing Under the Bridge”  Working Title –

I have always believed in magic. I don’t care what you say. You can doubt all you want. There is a hidden world which we cannot see sitting right in front of our faces, most everyone is too busy, too
blind, or too stupid to see it. I see it in the trees as the ethereal distance winds kiss the leaves as it flies through their branches. I spy it dancing in the fire amidst the embers at night; like little tiny sprites hopping from log to log amidst the flames playing a game of tag. I smell it in a wild rose in a crowded field of jostling weeds flinging its pheromones to attract the butterflies to alight on its silken petals. I hear it in the babbling brook as the water plays upon the rocks behind my home whispering to the frogs as it travels on downriver. I feel it in the rough stone I caress in the palm of my hand; an ancient power from ages past unearthed from the deep bowels of the earth from the crumbs of a mighty stone titan long dead. It is everywhere if you would only choose to see. The
magic speaks to me because I choose to listen and I almost understand what it
is saying

Chapter 1 – Reality Sets In

 

I tasted the blood that trickled down to my upper lip from my nose. It had a sweet metallic taste. I liked the taste of my blood. I am not a weird person don’t get me wrong, I’m not into to that kind of stuff.  I just like to sometimes pretend that I’m Conan the Barbarian and I’m backed up against the wall and that I’m fighting an angry horde of ghoulish creatures hell-bent on gutting me like a fish and eating my entrails as I watch. I have my sword hacking and slashing and limbs are flying and I’m scratched all to hell and I’m bleeding from a dozen different wounds and I’m smiling insanely because this could be my last day alive so why not go out smiling like a true warrior would upon meeting his death well met in battle. Yeah, I like to have my mind go to places like that when I would be rather be anywhere than where I am right now.

“Hold him down dammit he’s a squirmer! Fucking idiot, you see what he did to Carlos? He’s crazy man!” Carlos had it coming, I told myself as I lay on the ground struggling under two other boys who each probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds.  They wouldn’t have caught me if one of the bystanders hadn’t tripped me while I was trying to get away. Trying to get away, that’s all I ever do, until now.

I am not a violent person but I will admit it felt pretty good to see the plastic lunch tray connect solidly against the side of Carlos’s head and watch him go down in a daze, not to mention the stunned looks of his buddies who were now holding me down who put him up to flipping my lunch tray to the ground as I had walked by. It was classic man, just classic.

“What the hell are you smiling about you sick bastard. I am so gonna you end, just wait. I always knew you were a weird little fucker. That’s why you don’t have any friends.”

Aah, Jake the jerk off, as I like to call him, a man, or boy better yet, of not many words. I guess his Dad couldn’t buy him vocabulary to stuff inside that brain of his. I’m thinking his Dads more the type that likely bought’em a good weight set and a big box of protein bars cuz he was crushing the hell out of my left shoulder with his knees as I lay there on the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled at them while my face was being pressed firmly into the dirt. I might as well been yelling at the moon for all the good it did.  I was a punching bag to them. A distraction out of their boring day of the life they called school. I provided a service to them I guess. They needed a reason to feel special while they were here.  Everyone wants to feel special.

“Hey watch this Neil.” Jake said to the other kid that was holding me. It was amazing but Neil was actually more stupid than Jake was. I’m thinking the Smithsonian would have been really pleased to know a Neanderthal was still walking the earth. Neil had a prominent forehead, squashed face which held a dull look and knuckles that dragged the ground as he walked almost upright. He would have look great stuffed and mounted. It was a wonder he could tie his own shoes.  Oh wait, was that Velcro for laces instead? I had a pretty good view at his feet at this particular time so I had a moment to check them out.

“Whut?” Said Neil responding dumbly to him bent over next to my ear. Then I heard it, the long drawing in sound of phlegm back into the throat.

It landed with a splat on the top of my forehead and traveled like a river down into my right eye blinding me and causing me to lose it entirely. I thrashed and heaved and went into what I like to call my insane berserker barbarian rage. This had little effect but it did cause Jake to fall off from kneeling on my back which eased some of the pain I was feeling. I’ll take what I can get.

I realized in that instance, that the audiences that come to fighting events come to watch entirely for selfish reasons.  It is not to support the fighter; they want something out of it for all the money they plunked down. Apparently being stuck at school was the payment enough for all the other students just standing around watching my shame to unfold. They wanted to be entertained by my pain in some sick way, like the involuntary morbid thrill you get in watching a horror movie unfold knowing you feel bad for the victim, but not really because but what can you do?  They convinced themselves they are just a spectator to it all, that they are allowed to be insulated from it, please don’t ask for me to lend a hand they say, your crazy. I was just another pathetic soap opera to be talked about between their friends and family, to be kept at a distance and to not bog their day down. Their hand was on the dimmer switch that controlled the light of my life into theirs and they could choose to let in however much they thought they could take. Right now all those hands on all those switches were set to full off. I think I hated them more in that instance than the ones who picked on me on a daily basis.

“Break it up! Break it up!”  A loud high screeching of a woman’s voice cut through the chaos that was my crazed mind and through the crowd of onlookers as well. Mrs. Kitchen, a teacher and woman of enormous proportions waddled over her way through the ring of kids surrounding us to see what had caught everyone’s attention. I heard her gasp out aloud so theatrically when she came upon the scene that I almost laughed out loud.

Jake and Neil quickly let me go to show her they weren’t just trying to shove my head into the dirt and make me eat it.  I saw the crowd starting to disperse around me, the bloodshed was over; be about your way miscreants.

I slowly got up from the ground and wiped the spit and grass clippings from my face with the sleeve of my shirt.

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on? I found Carlos back there picking himself off the ground and now I find Calvin doing pretty the same thing over here. What’s going on?” Her voice went to a higher octave on the shrill level factor if that was possible and she put her hands on her very wide hips, tapping her foot impatiently expecting an answer. Yep, she was your typical stereotype, they do exist.

“He hit Carlos for no reason.” Neil said pointing at me like he was fingering me like some criminal in a line up.  Neil just kept quiet.

“Is this true Calvin?”  She asked.

“Yes and no,” I said, “Yes, I hit him, but I wouldn’t say it was for no reason. He had it coming, they like to provoke me.” I said and be damned with the consequences I was done caring anymore.

“Let’s see what Mr. Granderson has to say about all this. Let’s go.” She marched us into the schools office area where we sat and waited while all the parents were called.

More to come…

Excerpt from my First Novel – “The Fourth World” – YA Genre Urban Fantasy


I will at times in the progress of my novel over  the next coming months release certain excerpts from it..Hopefully this will  I think frame the book in it’s  overall theme and message to you the reader and also give you a reason to come back for the entire story because maybe just maybe you might say to yourself hmmmm..I wanna read this book…I’m gonna check it out.

Here below is a small opener to my very first full length Novel entitled tentatively “The Fourth World” that I plan on finishing by – cross your fingers –  the end of June 2013. It will be a Young Adult Category Novel in the Urban Fantasy Genre.

Excerpt from “The Fourth World”  Working Title –

I have always believed in magic. I don’t care what you say. You can doubt all you want. There is a hidden world which we cannot see sitting right in front of our faces, most everyone is too busy, too blind, or too stupid to see it. I see it in the trees as the ethereal distance winds kiss the leaves as it flies through their branches. I spy it dancing in the fire amidst the embers at night; like little tiny sprites hopping from log to log amidst the flames playing a game of tag. I smell it in a wild rose in a crowded field of jostling weeds flinging its pheromones to attract the butterflies to alight on its silken petals. I hear it in the babbling brook as the water plays upon the rocks behind my home whispering to the frogs as it travels on downriver. I feel it in the rough stone I caress in the palm of my hand; an ancient power from ages past unearthed from the deep bowels of the earth from the crumbs of a mighty stone titan long dead. It is everywhere if you would only choose to see. The magic speaks to me because I choose to listen and I almost understand what it is saying

Chapter 1 – Reality Sets In

I tasted the blood that trickled down to my upper lip from my nose. It had a sweet metallic taste. I liked the taste of my blood. I am not a weird person don’t get me wrong, I’m not into to that kind of stuff.  I just like to sometimes pretend that I’m Conan the Barbarian and I’m backed up against the wall and that I’m fighting an angry horde of ghoulish creatures hell-bent on gutting me like a fish and eating my entrails as I watch. I have my sword hacking and slashing and limbs are flying and I’m scratched all to hell and I’m bleeding from a dozen different wounds and I’m smiling insanely because this could be my last day alive so why not go out smiling like a true warrior would upon meeting his death well met in battle. Yeah, I like to have my mind go to places like that when I would be rather be anywhere than where I am right now.

“Hold him down dammit he’s a squirmer! Fucking idiot, you see what he did to Carlos? He’s crazy man!” Carlos had it coming, I told myself as I lay on the ground struggling under two other boys who each probably outweighed me by a hundred pounds.  They wouldn’t have caught me if one of the bystanders hadn’t tripped me while I was trying to get away. Trying to get away, that’s all I ever do, until now.

I am not a violent person but I will admit it felt pretty good to see the plastic lunch tray connect solidly against the side of Carlos’s head and watch him go down in a daze, not to mention the stunned looks of his buddies who were now holding me down who put him up to flipping my lunch tray to the ground as I had walked by. It was classic man, just classic.

“What the hell are you smiling about you sick bastard. I am so gonna end you, just wait. I always knew you were a weird little fucker. That’s why you don’t have any friends.”

Aah, Jake the jerk off, as I like to call him, a man, or boy better yet, of not many words. I guess his Dad couldn’t buy him vocabulary to stuff inside that brain of his. I’m thinking his Dads more the type that likely bought’em a good weight set and a big box of protein bars cuz he was crushing the hell out of my left shoulder with his knees as I lay there on the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” I yelled at them while my face was being pressed firmly into the dirt. I might as well have been yelling at the moon for all the good it did.  I was a punching bag to them. A distraction out of their boring day of the life they called school. I provided a service to them I guess. They needed a reason to feel special while they were here.  Everyone wants to feel special.

“Hey watch this Neil.” Jake said to the other kid that was holding me. It was amazing but Neil was actually more stupid than Jake was. I’m thinking the Smithsonian would have been really pleased to know a Neanderthal was still walking the earth. Neil had a prominent forehead, squashed face which held a dull look and knuckles that dragged the ground as he walked almost upright. He would have look great stuffed and mounted. It was a wonder he could tie his own shoes.  Oh wait, was that Velcro for laces instead? I had a pretty good view at his feet at this particular time so I had a moment to check them out.

“Whut?” Said Neil responding dumbly to him bent over next to my ear. Then I heard it, the long drawing in sound of phlegm back into the throat.

It landed with a splat on the top of my forehead and traveled like a river down into my right eye blinding me and causing me to lose it entirely. I thrashed and heaved and went into what I like to call my insane berserker barbarian rage. This had little effect but it did cause Jake to fall off from kneeling on my back which eased some of the pain I was feeling. I’ll take what I can get.

I realized in that instance, that the audiences that come to fighting events come to watch entirely for selfish reasons.  It is not to support the fighter; they want something out of it for all the money they plunked down. Apparently being stuck at school was the payment enough for all the other students just standing around watching my shame to unfold. They wanted to be entertained by my pain in some sick way, like the involuntary morbid thrill you get in watching a horror movie unfold knowing you feel bad for the victim, but not really because but what can you do?  They convinced themselves they are just a spectator to it all, that they are allowed to be insulated from it, please don’t ask for me to lend a hand they say, your crazy. I was just another pathetic soap opera to be talked about between their friends and family, to be kept at a distance and to not bog their day down. Their hand was on the dimmer switch that controlled the light of my life into theirs and they could choose to let in however much they thought they could take. Right now all those hands on all those switches were set to full off. I think I hated them more in that instance than the ones who picked on me on a daily basis.

“Break it up! Break it up!”  A loud high screeching of a woman’s voice cut through the chaos that was my crazed mind and through the crowd of onlookers as well. Mrs. Kitchen, a teacher and woman of enormous proportions waddled over her way through the ring of kids surrounding us to see what had caught everyone’s attention. I heard her gasp out aloud so theatrically when she came upon the scene that I almost laughed out loud.

Jake and Neil quickly let me go to show her they weren’t just trying to shove my head into the dirt and make me eat it.  I saw the crowd starting to disperse around me, the bloodshed was over; be about your way miscreants.

I slowly got up from the ground and wiped the spit and grass clippings from my face with the sleeve of my shirt.

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on? I found Carlos back there picking himself off the ground and now I find Calvin doing pretty much the same thing over here. What’s going on?” Her voice went to a higher octave on the shrill level factor if that was possible and she put her hands on her very wide hips, tapping her foot impatiently expecting an answer. Yep, she was your typical stereotype, they do exist.

“He hit Carlos for no reason.” Neil said pointing at me like he was fingering me like some criminal in a line up.  Neil just kept quiet.

“Is this true Calvin?”  She asked.

“Yes and no,” I said, “Yes, I hit him, but I wouldn’t say it was for no reason. He had it coming, they like to provoke me.” I said and be damned with the consequences I was done caring anymore.

“Let’s see what Mr. Granderson has to say about all this. Let’s go.” She marched us into the school’s office area where we sat and waited while all the parents were called.

More Excerpts to come…

Inspiration – It Could strike at any moment – Quote of the week


The difference between the right word and  the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning  bug.
Mark  Twain

The World – Commentary on Writing and Connecting


credit for graphic – Christel Steinvorth

I see you World…and I know you see me “write” back. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the stories I run into out here with the bits and bytes that float by from point A to point B. They just floor me.  They either entertain me, touch me, inspire me, teach me, piss me off, or just plain give me a since of camaraderie to the world at large.

Some critics think it’s a colder world socially we live in because its become impersonal, or too sterile in the way we socialize with all the texting, blogging,facebooking, and twittering we do.

I have met people from just around the corner to halfway around the world that I would never have met without this little invention called the computer.

The current population of the world is approximately at 7 Billion and climbing at a net growth of 200,000 new people per day on this Earth…I say those numbers alone could make it a pretty impersonal world to start with.  Now imagine if we didnt have computers to connect in some way to those 7 Billion. Imagine if the word computer wasn’t in the dictionary, and that  this wonderous machine I’m now typing on didn’t exist.

I wouldn’t have met  a funny witty honest little girl named Amna, from Pakistan who showed me the best and brightest is yet to be for the younger generation just now starting to take hold in this world

OR a guy named Seth from PA, USA who has faced adversity from the moment he was born which he continues to struggle with to this day but can still smile and find humor in life and inject that same feeling just by his very spirit and vitality into all his blogs on entertainment, life and love.

There is a woman who lives in Tasmania, who’s never known anything but her small little isolated world on a small island just south of Australia. She’s a writer named Megan Sayer who plans on fulfillng her lifelong dream of taking a trip to the United States and  visit a dear friend that she met online through her blogging. She has many spoken and unspoken fears but she’s learning to face them head on and  challenge herself on an almost daily basis.

There  is a woman , a writer who blogs who goes by the name Stella Marr….who lives in New York City , who was stuck in a world of prostitution, violence, and outright slavery for ten years who climbed  out and turned a corner in her life where so few don’t or can’t in that life. Now she inspires, informs, and sets the record straight  about the misconceptions of sex trafficking of girls and women all across the world.

Then there’s Christian Mihai,  a young writer in Romania,  a young man with a passion and intelligence for all things. He’s driven, he’s creative, he’s inquisitive, he’s profound, he’s inspiring.  He fuels me to be better, to think. Throw away my vanity and just be a student of life and learn my craft as a writer.

Finally, there’s Goregirl, what can I say about her. She knows what she loves and pursues it. An officiando on everything Horror if you couldn’te tell by her blog name. She’s a workhorse for her blogspost…constant, thorough, steadfast, and committed to her followers and her reviews. She has focus. Like an arrow being shot from a bow to hit dead center.

Stories of hardships,abuse,triumphant,being steadfast or driven in anything you love and believe in, showing courage against overwhelming odds. These are stories, these are lives which I recognize. These are people I wish to know. These are people I wish to be. These are people I admire. These are people I wish to write about.

The Night Entreats – A poem for Halloween and the coming FALL next week!


The crows rested in the trees;

for the killing was all done and they

were full.

Their caws as they conversed,

sounded like laughter to my ear;

as if the murders they had committed

 had been all in good fun.

The wind whistled in the trees

and nudged the dead leaves

to life across the road.

Brown and gold skittered like roaches

and hopped like bulbous toads

traveling in a disorganized parade

for the dead.

The bright moon held no warmth

for it worked with the cold wind

and played through the trees to

cast pale blue shadows upon me.

Figures of dark demons, witches, and imps

danced in front and behind as I  softly crept

 lest they hear me trespass in their day they

called night as they played.

My step quickened as the wind seemed to thicken

and pushed at me like a hand on my back.

I grabbed myself against the chill which

ran deeper than it should this fall night.

This hallowed eve, it seemed, held more magic than ages

past, more power, more darkness than the last.

An ancient magic flew on a mystic wind

That brought to my soul a feeling of dread and

memories of evils best left long gone and dead.

The night entreated and beckoned

me to come and walk off the path I was on,

to follow the dead parade as it marched on.

Perhaps I could join in the fun

and dance with the minions

of the night who ate and drank of sweet

things they called treats.

They grinned at me from out of the dark,

but I saw the trick in their eyes

as they wiped the blood from their lips

I would not be fooled

So I ran,

faster than the wind could find me,

Faster, faster, faster I ran.

until I reached my hallowed home.

and clicked the lock shut tight.

The night retreats.

by Philip Wardlow

About Me – Yes I’m forcing you to read About Me…and give you an UPDATE..:)


I have always loved the author who could take a character and make you love/hate him or her and then at the  end of that story actually make you care if they triumphed, lived, loved , or died.

I am currently in the process of becoming just that type of author (for now you must label me a writer) and this is my first step into marketing myself to the people who might be reading my stuff one day.  I hope to hone my craft in the coming months and years through blood  and sweat (not to many tears).  I hope to toll with bloody fingers to pen and paper and the constant punching of the keyboard. I wish the fantastic  to come to life and breath  as I  dredge them up out of the lighted but darks depths inside my head and put them to paper for your enjoyment and my own of course.

In the coming months, years  I will keep you up to date on where I am at in the submission process with all my stories…these things take a while but I’m always pessimistically optimistic about the events in my life…

I will try to keep you entertained with some writing of mine  from the past and present, such as some experimental stories, flash fiction, excerpts from novellas or novels I may be working on or have finished with and sent on to publishers  for submission. I will also show you some of my various poetry which  may entail aspects of fantasy, horror, and the occasional dark matter in life to philiosophical observations of every day life that hope may all be interesting, or thought provoking hopefully.

My style is a work  in a progress but I’m getting there.  Hope you enjoy!

Thanks for listening…and watch out for the shadows in the corners ..things like to hide there and just stare at you.

UPDATE on my writing: Be on the lookout  for more Short Story Content to be shown on here exclusively before it goes to the publishers (for consideration, of course heaven forbid they actually liked my stuff right off) and various contests. I am also wrapping my brain around my Novel with some Research and outlining. Eventhough the lead in pages to my Novel may change  I will be releasing a few pages already written from it to give you a hint of how awesome of a writer I am.   (that last part was a sarcastic joke…but it is backed up by yes I am a hell of a writer)  I am beginning to think arrogance and confidence in your writing is a good thing and plus you got to be a little fearless and stupid. (and drink lots of caffeine)

If you don’t know what I’m a about then check out a few of my short stories already on here under my title link at the top of this page entitled “Stories and Story Excerpts” or “Poetry Work”.

Thanks for stopping by or because you were being forced to read this because you love to follow me…:)

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Smidgens

Exclusive Inflictions

by Kelly Lewis

Go Dog Go Café

Where writers gather

The Emotional Being

Realise your innate perfection

MelDouleur.com

one thousand words are not enough

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

Just read

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

ReclusiveDreams

a clusterfuck of words

World of Horror

A cozy cottage for writers and book lovers

Elan Mudrow

Smidgens

Exclusive Inflictions

by Kelly Lewis

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