Pages

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

the pitch remains the same.

(I wrote this back in January, 2016.  It still stands and the story stands closer to it.)


"A drug dealing ladies man and part-time assassin with psychic skills meets the woman he'll mend most of his ways for. A new age con artist herself, she's got her own brand of psychic ability and a troubling history of being on hand for untimely deaths. 

When they meet, he’s on the lam from the life and she's married to a gangster wannabe who's blackmailing her to keep her in line. Cosmic lust comes before trust, but they must learn to work together if they hope to thwart her husband's plans to sell her and her secrets to settle a deadly debt."

       
         “So, just how do we turn this darkness into light?" she said and shuffled the cards. The deck was old and soft and made a purring sound in her hands. He picked up her thick braid, squeezed it gently and whispered in her ear,  
         "One well-deserving motherfucker at a time.” Then he wrapped the braid around her neck, tilted her head back and kissed her between the eyes.

Monday, January 15, 2018

learning to change

Like a mangy beast, the manuscript shifts and growls as I comb the knots out of its fur, careful around the wounds.
Pick fleas and crush them with my teeth.
Soothe.
 Smooth, but leave it wild and living, uncivilized, uncultured.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Blood on the pages


Sometime in the night, this happened.

Yes. Those are my first five pages he's chewing on. It doesn't hurt.


When was the last time you read a book that kept you up too late, made you laugh, made you sweat and made you say "NOW WHAT?" and made you sad when the ride was finally over?

Me neither. That's what I'm writing.