I slept well last night. It was a hard sleep, as is evidenced by the deep, red, swollen, imprints of pillow seam across my face. Even as I drink my second cup of coffee I can still see the red stripe. I started writing Splinter Self before I’d even finished Predator’s Game. The plan had…
So it will be 20 days tomorrow. When I woke up on the morning of May 6th, I couldn’t stand, my chest was tight, my head was spinning and nausea rolled over me, wave after wave. The Urgent Care center thought it might be a stroke so I spent the night in the hospital. After…
I thought it was a stroke. Hell, even the ER doc thought it might be a stroke, thus checking me into progressive care overnight. I was the youngest person on the floor other than the nurses and doctors–I was definitely the youngest patient. With my eyes unable to fix on anything for more than a…
3:30 a.m. on Sunday, April 17th—Falling Water, West Virginia WOLF sat at the workbench with a soldering gun hovering motionless above the circuit board. He closed his eyes and willed mental resources to Scott’s dream prison, hoping to prevent him from piercing anymore memories of the beach two months earlier. Once his thoughts had calmed,…
Cue Trumpets [Dah, da, da, DAHHHHH!] Okay, so it’s been almost a month since I released Hedged, my very first crime novel. It’s plugging away nicely on the Financial Crime Thriller List, yo yoing between #14 and the 60s. I hadn’t been able to do a lot in the way of promotion prior to release…
When he thought about her, he was sad. If “he” is a supporting character, and the reason he was “sad” about “her” is not critical to the story, then I would be fine with the description. But if there is any significance to his sadness, “her” or the circumstances around either of them, then I’ve…
She walked into my study, her fuzzy bunny slippers slapping her heels with each step. “You have something for me?” I looked up from my computer and smiled thinly, apologetic, before shaking my head. “Sorry. I’m working on it though.” She lingered in the doorway, cupping her coffee mug with both hands. Her robe…
I called out to her, nearly moaning in frustration. “Please! Give me anything.” She didn’t respond. So typical of the fickle, flighty fairy. When you need inspiration, she is nowhere to be found. She shows up on her own at the most inconvenient times; when you’re stepping into the shower, closing your eyes to sleep,…
