Redonkulous

Progress!

2026-05-05T10:06:00.002-04:00

Pretty sure the couple of people that checked out this blog are long gone, and Im talking to myself. Can't blame them, really. My updates have been few and far between.

In any case, I wanted to throw up a quick update. Im about halfway through my current book. I'm looking for beta readers if anyone is interested.

I'm pretty excited about this one. Its been a long time coming, but its finally in a place I am very happy with.

Distress - A Short Story

2026-02-25T17:18:00.003-05:00

The command deck was dim, and beyond the small porthole the stars lazily slid portward in an arc, disappearing near a smudge of dirt on the left of the glass. Most of the six command stations were dark, their consoles and displays turned off for the night. Even the overhead lights were off, making the soft emergency lights feel even brighter.

A young man named Tripper shifted where he sat at one of the two most forward stations. The console there glowed softly, though he paid it no mind, his gaze focused entirely on the stars beyond the thick glass. He leaned back, stretching his back like a cat, and rested his feet on the quiet console, careful to avoid anything important.

“Cin hates when you do that, yeah,” a quiet voice warned from behind, the accent guttural. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and winced. A boy stood there. He was tall, if a fair bit shorter than Tripper. He was so thin he resembled rags wrapped over a frame of empty clothes hangers. Dirty rags, and a dirty face to go with it. The boy ran a hand through his dirty red curls and grinned at him, green eyes sparkling.

“Fuck off, Fen,” the man said in greeting.

“Tripper, honey, how you gonna speak to your big sister like that?”

Tripper laughed, keeping his eyes on the stars. He was tall and thin as well. He was wearing blue pajama pants, but had not bothered to put on a shirt when he climbed from his bunk, unable to sleep. Again. Nightmares. Again. The glow of lights from his console reflected on his pale flesh, the skin tight over lean, strong muscle.

“Yeah,” Fen said with a dreamy tone to his voice. “Never thought to be here, eh? Watching the stars drift past.”

“I’ll never get sick of watching them. We could never see the stars,” Tripper mused. “Not from the sludge and muck at the bottom. Drek, we was too busy looking out to ever look up anyway, yeah?” The slang of his youth always returned strong when Fen paid him a visit, his own accent taking on a sharp edge. He was almost sure that he did not do it on purpose.

“Oh drek,” Fen laughed. “That too deep for me, honey.” He laughed again, a whimsical snicker. “Get it, babe? Deep? Like deep down in the Sewer?”

“Fuck off, Fen,” Tripper repeated. It was a familiar mantra, and the boy knew he didn’t really mean it. It was just something he had always said to him, going back so far to their days together in Trandor City; beneath Trandor City, really.

“That sting’s, honey. Why you gotta be so cruel?”

“What do you want, Fen?” He pulled his feet down, and his console and chair turned quietly to face the boy.

“I don’t want for nothing, honey. Just thought you could use some company, is all.”

Tripper smiled, his pale eyes distant. “Is that all?”

Fen nodded. “You always get so moody in the dead of night, staring out that window.”

“Me? Moody? Ok, princess.”

The boy placed a gentle hand on his own chest, and feigned a look of exaggerated hurt. “For true though, you just seemed like you could use some company up here in the dark, yeah. Something to keep you mind from spiraling around the mouth of that void in your head.”

“Do you remember,” Tripper asked, “that time you caught something from a john, and were forced to stay home for nearly a week? You were so sick.”

Fen giggled. “You stole some meds for me, and we spent the whole time playing that game, that one you always wanted to play and I never had the time. Usually too busy working, hey. What was it called?”

“Telub Rampage. That game was xenophobic as shit, but it sure was fun.”

“I remember how proud you were when you got it,” Fen recalled. “You were up a few levels, near twenty, causing shit. Phishing for weak security.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Pulled it right off of some rich kids Tap,” Tripper chuckled. “Shit, I remember. Then I trashed his files, too. Mostly porn, anyways,” he laughed.

Fen laughed too. “Worst refuse in the galaxy was coming out of my every hole the entire week, but playing that drek with you and not leaving our squat was one of the best times in my life, hey.”

Tripper smiled wistfully. “Me too, Fen.” He paused. “I wish I remember more drek like that, neh? Maybe I sleep better.”

“I told you before, hon. You gotta face your past if you wanna get past it. And I’d be glad to help. I here when you need me, honey. Always.”

Tripper grimaced. He doubted he would ever get used to even having the memories, so facing them was so far down on his list of priorities, you’d have to look up to see the Sewer.

He turned his station away from his old friend, and turned his gaze again to the stars, unwilling to even talk about talking about the shit in his head. Nah, fuck that. He glowered at the window silently. He heard Fen sigh in annoyance behind him.

“Is that important, honey?” Fen asked, and Trip turned his head to look. Fen was pointing at a blinking red light on his console. Trip glanced at the light, and then back at the boy again. Fen was gone, as if he had never been. He frowned, relieved but also already missing the boy.

He tapped the light. Brought up one of the displays. The Ebony Flower was picking up a message, vocal only. Looked to be coming from pretty far away. He played it over the bridge speakers.

Please help us. Our drives are dead, and we have been adrift for days. Oxygen is ok, but we will run out of food and water soon. Please, we have children. Someone.. Anyone. Please Help.

Tripper silenced the speaker, and toggled the ship-wide comms. It was time to wake up the others. It was time to go to work.

Sorry

2019-11-20T13:54:00.000-05:00

For the one or two people on the planet that actually are waiting for these chapters I keep promising, I apologize for the delay. The question I posed here about gravity got me thinking, and I have to make some changes to the early chapters.

Hopefully it wont take too long :)

Gravity - not the movie

2019-11-15T09:44:00.000-05:00

Im stuck on a technical detail. The new story takes place mostly in space, with spaceships and the like. Where Im stuck on is gravity; does my universe have artificial gravity? Would this be accomplished by creating internal spin and using thrust on the ships? Or some kind of gravity field (including inertia dampers like in star trek).

The first is more realistic, at least for tech as we understand it now. But second gives me a bit more creative freedom (people are free to walk around etc. with ease, crew quarters could be similar to a sailing ship rather than the sleep sacks used on the international space station.

But to y'all think? Does the less realistic version (star trek) ruin the SF for you? Have you heard of any other tech or ideas that might be fun to explore?

Happy Birthday

2019-11-07T08:24:00.002-05:00

Happy birthday to me!

heh.

Facebook

2019-10-31T09:28:00.001-04:00

Just for fun I changed the name of my facebook community. It used to be focused mainly on the Savage Queen - with my focus now slowly changing to this SF, it was time for change. Made a pretty new banner image for it. It accidentally reminds me of the cover I did for SQ -- what can I say, I like gradients.

I am kind of excited that I'm gearing up again here. Im actually doing some writing along with all these "admin" tasks. I have a beta reader or two lined up (which is very important for me -- I need people nagging me to write to push me on). Hopefully soon Ill have something to share.

Halloween

2019-10-30T16:13:00.000-04:00

Why does it always rain on halloween. Ugh.

Im almost done the 2nd chapter of my new project. Main character can be a dick and I love him.

Dream

2019-09-23T08:45:00.000-04:00

So I have this idea for a SF thats been rattling around upstairs for a while. I have a couple cool characters I really love. It has a setting I enjoy, but the plot didnt really spend enough time there. I had a damn good opening. I knew where I wanted the story to go.

And thats about it.

The entire book from about 2 pages after the great opening to the second from last page was missing. Hence, I didnt really have a story, but just the faintest glimmerings of an idea of a story. I did some world building. Ive thought about who I wanted the characters to be. Ive thought about what I wanted the story to be. But story? Nope. What I had would fit on the wrapper of a Double Bubble.

I drove to Cleveland for work a couple months ago, and made a bunch of voice memos on the drive. Plot stuff. I thought I had it. I came home and tried to write it and -- nothing. The plot I had sucked. I supposed someone could turn it into a story, but not me. It was too boring to me, and not really the story I wanted to tell. It turned my character for a badass x-junkie drifter (kind of) into something of a professional soldier or mercenary. Sure, there is a story, just not my story.

So off to the back burner again.

Over the last few days, I have been deathly sick (aka the man cold). Spent several sleepless nights just thinking. Still nothing. Cold started to break, and I slept like a rock for 10 hours Saturday night. Last night, Sunday, I... well, I kind of wrote the whole novel. I remember thinking at 330am that I finally had it, and just needed to write it down. It wasnt exactly a dream, because I was mostly awake. My brain just didnt want to go to sleep and found something else to occupy it. Of course, I was also stuffed up and suffering from dry mouth because of it, so getting comfortable was impossible. Anyways, whatever the reason, I think I finally have it.

Ill spend some time to do outlining, and then Ill probably spend some time thinking about it, making sure it all works. Making sure its actually something I want to write, because that's very important.

But who knows -- maybe Im actually start writing something with some kind of regularity again. Or not. Who know.

Lies!

2019-03-15T08:13:00.002-04:00

All lies.

Im still writing, but not much. I am not sure what I WANT to work on, but it will not be Iron King.

Hopefully, it will be something :)

The Savage Queen Revisited

2016-09-20T09:11:00.000-04:00

My mother lent a copy of The Savage Queen to a neighbor. On the weekend, I met a young man named Elijah who I guess is a "fan." Elijah wants to make me a new cover for the book (an area that has always been lacking).

Well. I've always said I write for my readers, however many, and not money. One fan (well, maybe a couple more) and all of a sudden I have the writing bug again. Its been awhile. And that's a bug I have missed.

So. I have decided to publish a new second edition of The Savage Queen; I am working on a fresh edit, cleaning up a few things I wasn't happy with. Bits of grammar or scenes that always felt a bit off. Nothing that changes the overall story. And hopefully, if everything works out, it will have a nice new cover.

My plan this time is to focus on the ebook. The paper copies will still be available, but ebooks are more affordable (and, I admit, I get a better cut).So I am hoping to publish two ebooks:

1. Realm of the Flower. This will be a free ebook, containing most of the first half of The Savage Queen, ending somewhere around the battle of the Watch
2. The Savage Queen (2nd edition): This is the full ebook. Im hoping to price it around $5-7.

I'm going to do my best to get the free ebook out there as much as possible, hoping the battle at the Watch is good enough to get some people hooked enough to buy the full book.

And as this plan is rolling... maybe, just maybe, I'll again be working on book 2: The Iron King

Happy New Year

2016-01-12T14:34:00.000-05:00

THIS is the year I start writing. Here, there, everywhere.

Kenny is five. A little man. Argues everything I say. But he's reading, and arguing, and adding, and arguing, and drawing and writing and arguing...

Josie is two. She cuddles, mumbles, get the odd word right, and acts like someone has taken away human rights every time they say no.

I'm working. And trying to write, but failing.

THIS is the year. Damnit.

Cecil

2015-07-30T09:27:00.003-04:00

Ok, I feel bad for Cecil. Its sad. But why is my feed full of this as if it was the worst thing ever? The dentist was a prick, he deserves to be punished to the full extent of the law (not having his life torn down or threatened). Its sad that the lion is gone.

But why isn't my feed full of more important things? A lion dies, and every post on my feed is about Cecil?????

How about:
...

http://www.breakingisraelnews.com/…/isis-now-granting-beh…/…

or this

http://www.newsnet5.com/…/sam-dubose-ray-tensing-uc-police-…

or this

http://www.vanityfair.com/hollywo…/…/07/bill-cosby-quaaludes

or this

http://www.cbc.ca/…/un-s-calls-for-inquiry-into-missing-mur…

or this

http://www.triplepundit.com/…/america-can-learn-california…/

or even this

http://www.citynews.ca/…/3-kitchener-sisters-stopped-by-po…/

Honestly. If the whole world is going to get this upset, and declare someone the most hated man in the world, can't we pick a more relevant cause?

Goofballs: Josie and her temper

2015-02-14T09:46:00.002-05:00

Josie has been going going through something the last few weeks. Maybe teething, maybe sick, or maybe just a phase. Regardless of cause, the effect is she doesn't want to go to bed like she did. When we put her down, for naps especially, she pops back up on her feet and SCREAMS for an hour before eventually giving up and going to sleep. The same new "habit" has resulted in some rough nights for mom and dad.

We have seen her temper before. She throws toys that frustrate her. If her brother takes the teasing too far, she knocks him on his ass and doesn't hesitate to jump on him and pound away. Taking things from her she shouldn't have (like her favorite toy, a scewdriver) results in tantrums the likes of which we had only before witnessed on TV.

When she naps, Jo wears a sleep sack -- like the one here on the right. Basically part bag, part blanket, with a zipper that keeps her from tossing it off in the night and getting cold.

The other day, Nicole put her down for a nap. Jo cried for about an hour, as she does now. But understand; when I say "cry" I mean "screamed and shrieked as if murder was being committed". Eventually, to our relief, the raging stopped, and little Josie went to sleep.

An hour an a half later, she woke up. I went upstairs, opened her door and -with my mouth hanging open in shock - muttered "oh my god." I immediately called Nicole, telling her she had to see it too (I should have taken a picture, alas).

Her sleep sack, designed to be escape proof for little ones, hung from her in tatters; she hadn't unzipped it, she had ripped the zipper open. Her hair disheveled, looking as if she had spent her time upstairs yanking on her locks in fury. The few stuffed animals we had left in her crib were on the floor by the door, on the other side of the room. Except for one. One toy was torn open, its stuffing everywhere; in the crib, on the floor and sticking to Josie's unkempt hair. In her rage that we would dare try and get her to sleep, she had destroyed everything she could reach in a tantrum the likes of which I have not seen since the last time Nicole convinced me to play Monopoly with her.

Josie was eighteen months old yesterday. I.. am unprepared for what the future will bring.

Goofballs: Diary of my little brats

2015-02-14T08:47:00.002-05:00

My blog has been a bit stagnant. for a while. I keep trying to fix it, and I keep failing. I just don't have a purpose for it. Well, inspiration hit the other day at work.

A friend of mine mentioned her kids, now teenagers, love reading the diary she kept of them when they were children, and that I should do the same. Well, what a great idea!

So this will now be a place where I can share the funniest and or strangest of stories about my two little goof balls. Hopefully one day they will enjoy reading the tales; in the meantime, hopefully you will!

Why I don't like Pink for my Daughter

2014-10-01T08:57:00.000-04:00

I don't like when people buy my daughter Pink items. And I always get asked why. Well, its not the color I have a problem with. In fact, Josie has several pink outfits that have my seal of approval.
Its what the color pink has come to mean. When you buy something pink, chances are the message on it is not exactly pro-feminist. Things like "little princess" seem harmless enough until you see the boys outfit from the same line of clothes saying "future engineer".

Check out this article. This line of clothes lets boys be super heroes, while girls get to DATE super heroes. Think about that message: how the boys are the strong ones, while the girls wait around for a man to take care of them (the EXACT message of Disney Princesses, btw). Get my daughter a pink outfit with a superman/woman shield and she can wear it; get her a pink outfit that says "Future Engineer" and Ill put it on her myself. Get her one that says "I only Date Heroes" and it will never leave the drawer.

But, its easier to just tell people not to buy her pink.

http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/kitchener-waterloo/target-baby-pjs-say-boys-are-heroes-girls-can-date-them-1.2782450

Depression and Suicide, and my thoughts on Robin Williams

2014-08-22T11:41:00.000-04:00

When I was a teenager, I wanted to die.

To this day, I don’t really know why. I was lonely, and had fallen into a darkness I could never understand, filled with a depression that was overwhelming. I felt my sanity slipping away, and getting out of bed every day was a struggle. I wanted to die, more than I wanted anything. I cut myself -and I still bear the scars - in an attempt to bleed off some of the inexplicable pain that dragged me down like an anchor.

So when I say Robin Williams was a selfish coward to take his own life, I say it with empathy and understanding. But the fact is, his children, his family, his friends will never be the same. He hurt them, badly. And I understand that.

Henry Rollins posted this:

“I simply cannot understand how any parent could kill themselves. How in the hell could you possibly do that to your children? I don’t care how well adjusted your kid might be — choosing to kill yourself, rather than to be there for that child, is every shade of awful, traumatic and confusing. I think as soon as you have children, you waive your right to take your own life. No matter what mistakes you make in life, it should be your utmost goal not to traumatize your kids. So, you don’t kill yourself.”

People on the internet are of course calling him out for being insensitive, for being an asshole. Clearly, they say, Mr. Henry Rollins has never experienced depression. But here’s the thing: he’s not wrong.

When I sat in my room as a teenager, digging into my arm with a stolen steak knife, one thing stopped me. One thought of clarity, even as my vision was blinded by tears: my mom would be destroyed. From there, I thought of all the people that would be hurt – my sister, my father, even the friends I had distanced myself from. No matter how full of self-pity, self-hate and depression I became, I could not lie to myself about that. I would hurt them more than I could bear.

Robin Williams killed himself anyways, and left behind a lot of hurting loved ones. And I understand that too. Because a day or a week or a month after the revelation about my mother, the knife was again poised against my bleeding arm. And I cursed myself for being weak, knowing my suffering was hurting my family, knowing that my death would hurt them more, but knowing I could not go on. And I eventually put away that knife again. For a day, or a week, or a month, before I did it again.

Depression is a horrible thing. To this day, it still affects me. I like to say that I have beaten it, and perhaps I have. But I would be lying if I said I never glanced at a rope or a knife and thought it would be easier. Like hitting reset in a video game, I tell myself, except we only get the one life. But I’m happy. I love my family, and I love my life. And still, that darkness is there, in the corners of my mind, waiting to pounce in a moment of weakness. I feel it when I let my guard down, when I’m feeling low or lost or tired or weak or sick of suffering. When life again feels like more than I can handle. And I understand that the darkness will stay with me, forever and always, a constant battle that will likely never have a winner.

Perhaps Robin Williams grew tired of that fight, and let his darkness win. Perhaps the fact that he was allegedly facing a debilitating disease was too much, and it pushed him over. Perhaps that is something I may face some day, and maybe I too will eventually lose this war that constantly pulls at my thoughts and emotions. He lost the fight. And as a man that suffered from this terrible disease, he deserves our pity and love and understanding. As a man that fought for so many years, he deserves out respect. As a man that hurt his family, he deserves our anger and criticisms.

Robin Williams knew what he was doing, and whom he was hurting. Just like I knew, sobbing as I sat on a kitchen counter clutching a knife in front of my mother, that I was killing her with the pain of my suffering. I deserved criticism for that. Someone should have grabbed me by the shirt and shook some sense into me; someone should have screamed at me to look at what I was doing to my mother, at how selfish I was being. I deserved it. But to act as if I, as if Robin Williams, did no wrong is foolish. We should be allowed to say that Robin Williams was selfish, without being called hateful or uncompassionate. He was selfish, and he would have known it, and that would have made him feel even worse, in a horrible spiral of suffering. Ignoring what he did will not make it go away. We all have a right to our anger.

Beyond the anger of what he did, he deserves our forgiveness, and understanding. He fought the good fight, and lost in the end. This is a disease with no reason, a killer that can creep into the minds of any of us, any of our loved ones. Its victims need our love and understanding, our forgiveness and compassion.

World Without Heroes

2014-07-16T08:35:00.002-04:00

A quick bit from a story Im working on.

She shivered suddenly, her naked skin breaking out in goose pimples. It was if the temperature in the room had just dropped a dozen degrees. She rubbed at the ache she felt in her breasts, and tried to slow her suddenly racing heart. Vickie had to resist a sudden compulsion to rub lower. Inwardly fuming, she did her best to squash her feelings of the man. And then she made the connection, even as she noticed her breath mist before her; the drop in temperature, the warming feeling in her loins.

Daemon.

Too late, she reached for the amulet that she never took off; before her hand connected with the strange metal and stranger gem, something grabbed her wrist. A shock of pleasure ran through her, filling her with a fire that peaked between her legs. She gasped, and something turned her forcibly.

“The sssssorcerer Lexxxxx” a voice whispered in her ear, and she felt her pulse quicken. She struggled against the feelings, desperately, but her body was rebelling and giving into the alien influence. Its voice was a horror, filled with sounds like broken glass, awful and terrible; yet she found herself drawn to it. She struggled against the grip on her wrist, weakly. Feebly.

“Let me go,” she managed to whisper.

The creature giggled. It opened its mouth, and Vickie could smell death wafting out. Needle like fangs dripped yellowish salvia as the thing smiled at her. Its face was a tall narrow oval, its features nearly human; the nose was too sharp, the brow too high, the cheek bones too severe. Its skin was scaly and black as tar, looking wet and reptilian. Its body was enveloped in cloak just as black, shrouding the tall slim form that towered over her by nearly two feet. The hand that gripped her like an iron cuff was cold and dry, the fingers ending in talons that would eviscerate a man with little effort.

“Noooooo,” it answered her plea. Its dark eyes flashed with something resembling humor. “Neeeeever again.”

Ethics: What I Believe Part 2

2014-05-27T10:15:00.000-04:00

A little while ago, I went to the vending machine at work, looking for a bag of chips. Clearly, whomever had been there before me had a spell of bad luck; it was obvious they had paid, but their chips were still hanging there, taunting. Having experienced the same awful twist of fate myself, I knew how the poor bastard must feel.

When I put my change in the machine and selected the appropriate buttons, my chips fell to the dispenser with a satisfying crash; on their journey down they somehow reached out a hand towards their trapped cousin, and pulled that not quite forgotten bag of chips to freedom.

I proceeded to abuse the company email by emailing everyone in the office to let them know their lost snack food had been liberated. I wanted that poor lost soul to experience the small joy that they would get their morning snack after all.

A person I take break with, a person insistent in her catholic beliefs, was a bit shocked at my attempts to return the errant snack to its rightful owner. Her words, and I do paraphrase a bit as this was a while ago, where: "Considering your beliefs, I'm surprised you would go to the trouble to give those back."

Because yes, only Christians can be good people. Only Christians can be the least bit empathic, and actually consider how another person might feel. And yes, I am aware I am only talking about a bag of chips here, and not a lost wallet or car keys or something.

Being an atheist does not mean I get free reign in our world. It does not mean I can go through this world committing the most heinous crimes, like murder or chip theft, all willy nilly. It means I don't believe in a god, a supreme force that created everything, watches over us, and punishes us when we steal someone's chips. Murder was wrong long before the church said it was, sometime in the middle ages. Before that, people did not need the threat of an eternity of suffering to understand that, and neither do I.

To me, ethics come down to treating people the way I would want to be treated. And yes, that jesus guy got this right, son of god or not. I wouldn't want someone to steal my chips, so I won't steal theirs.

There has been enough evil done in the name of god in this world; I prefer to rescue chips in my own name, thank you very much.

God and the Easter Bunny: What I Believe Part 1

2014-04-29T16:07:00.000-04:00

When I was very young, something about Santa Claus just did not sit right with me. We didn't have a chimney, and my parent's explanations did not fit for me. Flying reindeer seemed silly. Delivering presents the world over, while under the cover of darkness provided by a single night -complicated by time zones - was impossible. So, I pretended to sleep one Christmas Eve, and snuck downstairs just far enough to watch my parents put the presents under the tree, playing Santa. Ah, I thought, now this makes sense!

Later, at my Catholic grade school, I remember learning about Greek and Roman mythology, and I remember thinking it made about as much sense as Christianity. I remember questioning the nuns at my Sunday school (and getting kicked out) about the things that just didn't seem to fit for me. Where are the dinosaurs? How about evolution? And how the hell to you explain all those animals fitting on a wooden boat, and how did they not eat each other? Reasonable questions, I still think.

Those were the kind of questions I had on my mind, when in grade 8, I went to talk to my priest. For those unaware, this was to be the year of my Confirmation. This was a big deal, a ritual where one essentially swears his or her faith in God, promising a lifetime of devotion and loyalty. I did not like the idea of one day breaking my word, so I told that priest I had doubts. For me, much like Santa and the Easter Bunny, something about this god just did not fit.

And the priest said to me: "Don't worry about it. Just say the words and you should come around some day."

And with those words of wisdom, my already shaky faith crashed down around me, starting me on a path of discovery that would take years to complete.

Love, for a time

2014-04-29T15:49:00.002-04:00

Posting this again. I changed the ending a bit, for the better I think. Still struggling with the middle (the bit I put in bold this time).

Love, for a time

She was standing against a short retaining wall, waiting for a bus. The suns light embraced her like a spotlight, her golden, freckled skin aglow. Time slowed as I drove past, and I watched her as one would watch the setting sun over mountains, or the ocean. Her auburn hair defied taming, framing her face with cascading curls. Her eyebrows were precision, her green eyes wide but bored, even as she listened to someone on her mp3 player. Her lips were painted red, the corners tugged up ever so slightly in a smile that never quite went away. She was chewing a piece of gum, blowing a big pink bubble, and playing with a curl of hair in a stereotypical way that on anyone else would appear ditsy, or maybe bubbly. On her, she was just cute; nothing could take away from the sharp wit in her eyes, the steely confidence she bore. She was dressed simply in a white blouse and black business skirt, a pair of short black heels next to her on the ground. Her bare feet were nestled in the short grass. I would imagine she enjoyed the feeling of the warm grass on her naked toes.

At the sight, I felt my whole being suffused with warmth. As if I were tanning nude on the beach, the hot sand beneath me, the sun above. From the tips of my toes to my eyebrows, it felt like I was blushing. I smiled, a lazy slow smile, a smile I felt all over. My heart thundered and shuddered, missing a beat here and there in its excitement. Was this love?

I cannot recall if that was the first or last time I saw her.

We kissed under the moon, a soft embrace that was gentle and loving, tranquil. The ocean crashed against the sand near us, providing a soundtrack for our passion. We made love in the sand, and the water swept up and around us. It was not a perfect moment, a clichéd scene from a movie; there was a bit of a chill to the air, and we laughed afterwards as we brushed the sand from each other's bodies. We both had to work in the morning, and knew that life would always intrude, eventually. We huddled together for warmth as we watched the stars.

On a chill night in February, we talked late into the night. She talked about indie bands, and I laughed and called her an artsy hipster. She asked if I had ever heard of one band after another, and played me samples over the phone. I hadn't. I knew the big bands, but I loved how passionate she was about this local band from Zurich or that band from Kitchener. I didn't really care about the music, but I loved it, because she did. She wanted to travel, and see them all live. I promised to take her.

We went the movies, and I complained afterwards about how much the people around us had talked through the movie. She had given me a knowing smile, and twirled her hair, and everything was right. I felt right. We both loved movies, the way she loved music and I loved travel. We watched classics and b-movies, block busters and character studies. It didn’t matter what we saw, as long as we saw it together.

There was a moment where I realized I could not imagine being without her. I don’t recall what I was doing, but I am sure it involved her smile. And I knew that everything was perfect, that without her, something would be missing. Life would be less. And I think of that moment of her standing in the sun, playing with her hair, and I feel sad to know it is gone. That it never was. It will never be.

I awaken, and she is gone. Even her name is lost as though it never was. I do not know who she was or might have been. It had been so real, we had spent a lifetime together. But now it's gone as if it had never been. All that remains to me is fleeting, images and feelings, a sense that something is now missing. I feel a little like weeping, knowing I will never see her again. Stubbornly, I hold on to that image of her by the retaining wall, her skin like honey in the sun, and refuse to let go. That was not my life, and she was never mine. She was just the girl of my dreams, is all.

I close my eyes and try to force myself back to sleep, so that I can find her again. But sleep won't come. She won't come. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, concentrating on her face; the memories are seeping away, sand slipping from my fingers. My thoughts, against my will, turning to the day at hand. She slips away. I wonder if she is out there somewhere in the world, trying hard to remember me as she awakens. The thought soothes a bit. I rise, and face the day without her.

It's gone now. The dream. Faded away. But her smile; that stays with me all day long. And I know that for a time, at least, it was love.

Quick Post

2014-04-25T16:46:00.002-04:00

I've said it before. More than once. I'm going to start updating this thing more than twice a year!

That being said, its amazing how little time I have for writing. At home, with two kids, and lots of work around the house, we struggle to find enough time to watch Game of Thrones. And of course my friends with older kids love to remind me it will only get worse!

At home, I am renovating my bathroom (I just finished stripping down the walls, and now the real work starts). I am also renovating the garage, and turning it into a functional wood shop. And THEN, assuming its not snowing again by then, I promised Kenny I'd build a castle for him in the back yard.

Kenny is doing great; his stories are almost as complex as mine, and I can't say it doesn't make me proud. He's in a pre-pre-school class once a week to get him ready for real school in September, and loving it. He starts soccer in two weeks.

Josie is making lots of new noises, but no words yet. She rolls around, but no crawling yet. She might skip crawling like Kenny did and go right to walking.

Writing. I'm working on a lot of stuff, when I can. Mostly a couple short stories, and whenever possible I work on World Without Heroes, my comic book that's not a comic book novel. Some adult stuff I am experimenting with that I will likely not share here :p I also keep trying to put my thoughts on atheism down on paper, in a way that is mind-opening (aka, not too offensive to turn off any religious readers -- looking at you, mom).

With that said, here is a little flash fiction I wrote that is very different than my usual stuff. It needs a bit of work in the middle, but I cannot quite put my finger on what. Enjoy.

Love, for a time

She was standing against a short retaining wall, waiting for a bus. The suns light

embraced her like a spotlight, her golden, freckled skin aglow. Time slowed as
I drove past, and I watched her as one would watch the setting sun over
mountains, or the ocean. Her auburn hair defied taming, framing her face with
cascading curls. Her eyebrows were precision, her green eyes wide but bored,
even as she listened to someone on her mp3 player. Her lips were painted red,
the corners tugged up ever so slightly in a smile that never quite went away. She
was chewing a piece of gum, blowing a big pink bubble, and playing with a curl
of hair in a stereotypical way that on anyone else would appear ditsy, or maybe
bubbly. On her, she was just cute; nothing could take away from the sharp wit
in her eyes, the steely confidence she bore. She was dressed simply in a white
blouse and black business skirt, a pair of short black heels next to her on the
ground. Her bare feet were nestled in the short grass. I would imagine she
enjoyed the feeling of the warm grass on her naked toes.

At the sight, I felt my whole being suffused with warmth. As if I were tanning nude on

the beach, the hot sand beneath me, the sun above. From the tips of my toes to my eyebrows, it
felt like I was blushing. I smiled, a lazy slow smile, a smile I felt all over.
My heart thundered and shuddered, missing a beat here and there in its
excitement. Was this love?

I cannot recall if that was the first or last time I saw her.

We kissed under the moon, a soft embrace that was gentle and loving, tranquil. The

ocean crashed against the sand near us, providing a soundtrack for our passion.
We made love in the sand, and the water swept up and around us. It was not a
perfect moment, a clichéd scene from a movie; there was a bit of a chill to the
air, and we laughed afterwards as we brushed the sand from each other's bodies.
We both had to work in the morning, and knew that life would always intrude,
eventually. We huddled together for warmth as we watched the stars.

On a chill night in February, we talked late into the night. She talked about indie

bands, and I laughed and called her an artsy hipster. She asked if I had ever
heard of one band after another, and played me samples over the phone. I
hadn't. I knew the big bands, but I loved how passionate she was about this
local band from Zurich or that band from Kitchener. I didn't really care about
the music, but I loved it, because she did. She wanted to travel, and see them
all live. I promised to take her.

We went the movies, and I complained afterwards about how much the people around us had

talked through the movie. She had given
me a knowing smile, and twirled her hair, and everything was right. I felt
right. We both loved movies, the way she loved music and I loved travel. We
watched classics and b-movies, block busters and character studies. It didn’t
matter what we saw, as long as we saw it together.

There was a moment where I realized I could not imagine being without her. I don’t

recall what I was doing, but I am sure it involved her smile. And I knew that
everything was perfect, that without her, something would be missing. Life
would be less. And I think of that moment of her standing in the sun, playing
with her hair, and I feel sad to know it is gone. That it never was. It will
never be.

I awaken, and she is gone. Even her name is lost as my sub consciousness is
pushed aside by wakefulness. I do not know who she was or might have been. It's
the nature of dreams; it had been so real, we had spent a lifetime together.
But now it's gone as if it had never been, and all that remains is fleeting,
images and feelings, a sense that something is now missing. I feel a little
like weeping, knowing I will never see her again. I hold on to that image of
her by the retaining wall, her skin like honey in the sun, I stubbornly refuse
to let go. That was not my life, and she was never mine. She was just the girl
of my dreams, is all. I close my eyes and try to force myself back to sleep, so
that I can find her again. But sleep won't come. She won't come. I squeeze my
eyes tightly shut, concentrating on her face; the memories are seeping away,
sand slipping from my fingers. My thoughts, against my will, turning to the day
at hand. She slips away. I wonder if she is out there somewhere in the world,
trying hard to remember me as she awakens. The thought soothes a bit. I rise,
and face the day without her.

It's gone now. The dream. Faded away. But her smile; that stays with me all day

long. And I know that for a time, at least, it was love.

Change

2013-11-21T11:54:00.001-05:00

Someone asked me why I never update my blog the other day, and I thought "Sure I do. It hasn't been that long." So I checked in, and realized its just about a year to the day since my last update. Wow. I'm a slacker.

So what's going on?

Well, in my personal life, a lot. On October 21 we lost Bear, and I was pretty devastated. I'm still a long way from moving past it. I loved that dog.

Kenny is finally nearly toilet trained, after a number of on again/off again attempts throughout the year. He's less than a year away from school, which is mind blowing. He still sleeps perfectly, and is a smart, polite well behaved boy most of the time.

The biggest news which I completely skipped on the blog, is that we now have a second child. Josephine Mae Dunkley was born on August 13, and is currently causing my sleep schedule much distress. Like her brother, she is about as cute as humanly possible, and she's at that stage where she's smiling a lot, and kind of playing as well. Kenny loves her dearly, and can't wait to show her how to play avengers and go on long walks.

My sister also brought another family member into the world, my nephew Declan. He's an awesomely cute little guy that is destined for football - already he's built like a linebacker. Because of a hectic life of late, I have not seen him nearly enough, but hope to remedy that in the near future.

As for writing, the main reason I suspect any of you come here, I'm sure you can guess progress has been limited. I have been puttering at some short stories, a bit of work here and there on Iron King and World Without Heroes, but mostly I have been rereading snippets of my work trying to get back into the "zone". I have not stopped writing, and never will. It's just been delayed a bit. I hope to have something more to share soon.

Lastly, on the topic of this blog itself. I can't promise to post more, butI want to, and will try. Along with bits about my life and writing, I am considering sharing some other thoughts, on the world around us. Things that have me thinking. Things that have me worried, or excited. I guess we will see what the future brings.

Thanks for sticking with me!

For Kasey

2012-11-23T17:08:00.000-05:00

Just Another Day.

3:07am

"Did you hear that? What was that? Is it morning already? Kasey, what was that? Is it time for breakfast? Hey hey, I think it must be morning. Kasey? Getupgetupgetup!"

"Oh god" I grumble. "Go back to sleep. It's the middle of the night." I open one eye anyway, knowing she is wrong, but still needing to double check; I am kind of hungry, after all. The room we share is nearly black, our two beds shrouded in darkness. I'm curled up in mine, and I take a moment to glare at my sister. She's standing on hers, her whole body rigid with quivering anticipation. She is such a morning person. She makes a noise deep in the back of her throat, and I hiss at her to be quiet. "Don't wake dad!" The door to our room is closed, and I think I can make out the eyes of one of the cats up high on a shelf.

I hear a door open in the hallway, and roll my eyes; Bear's little stub of a tail is whipping around like a propeller, and I wonder that it doesn't come clean off. She launches herself at the door and I'm sure she is going to smash right into it, but instead she skids to a halt and drops to the floor just before it, her nose pressed to the slit underneath. Light spills in, and I hear some noise in the other room. Just mom or dad, going to the bathroom. I rest my head back on my paws, and roll my eyes. "Bear, it's not morning. It's not time to come out yet. " Of course, she ignores me. Her little stub is moving so fast I can feel the air move from across the room. My tail wiggles a bit, much to my chagrin; her excitement can be contagious, I'll give her that. I still my own tail with an embarrassed frown; I'd have blushed, if I could.

Moments pass; the toilet flushes, the taps in the sink run, and then the light turns out. Another second or two, and the door to our parents' bedroom clicks shut. Bear, the silly twit, still thinks it's morning. "Bear, cut it out. I'm going back to sleep." I close my eyes, and soon enough I'm dreaming of squirrels. Likely Bear is still standing at the door as I sleep.

6:59am

There's light outside, now. I have to pee, and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever eat again. I'm sure it's been weeks since the last time we had a meal. Weeks! Bear's awake, but the silly monster is lying on her back, a dazed expression on her face. She's drooling a little bit, too. It must be almost time to-

The bedroom just opened! My sister beats me to our door only by a tail -and a stub of a tail at that. Her tail is at it again, but then mine is a little out of my control too. I don't care; I'm nearly positive that its breakfast time! We hear the bathroom, and mom talking to the cats. The felines are crowded outside our door; they get fed in here, while we go downstairs to eat. Humans have the strangest ideas about these things.

Our door opens, and ohmygodtheresmommy! For a moment, everything's chaos; cats bound in past us, heading towards their prospective spots. Bear and I charge mom, circling around her in a rush. "mommymommymommymommymommy" Bear is repeating over and over in excitement, and I'm embarrassed to admit I'm almost as bad. She pushes past us, muttering something that sounds annoyed in Human that I don't quite make out, and the door clicks shut. I hear the cats demanding their breakfast, so I charge downstairs; Bear remains outside our room -by running ahead of her, I avoid being trampled on the stairs by my gigantic klutz of a sister.

I hear the door open, and mom starts down the stairs. Ok, I admit; at this point I'm pretty excited. I can smell the cat food upstairs, and I can smell my own food in that darn frustrating plastic bin. Why are human's so slow? Doesn't mom realize I'm starving to death here?! "Mom!" I shout, "C'mon! Hurry up!"

Bear crashes down the stairs with her usual grace; I wince a bit at the colossal crash as she smashes into a wall while trying to take a tight corner, moving at about ninety past the speed limit. With all the elegance of a horse standing on an ice rink she slides into the kitchen, nearly knocking me over as she skids to a stop at her food bowl. "Food?" she asks me with a goofy smile.

And then mom is there, and everything is ok.

7:38am

I'm in my chair. It's a cozy thing, just the right size for me to curl up in, next to the big window. I love my chair. I can watch the birds, and I can see when dad gets home, as he pulls his car up almost right next to me. I love the feel of the sun on me in my chair, and I admit tanning is something of a guilty pleasure; I know, I know, I've heard about the risks of sun tanning, but it just warms up my fur and makes me so toasty, well, I can't resist. Especially now that Spring is here, and everything is warming up. I love this time of year! There are so many things out there to smell, sometimes I wish I could stay out there all day! Of course, then I'd get hungry...

Where was I? Mom and dad are rushing around the house, with Bear tagging along hopefully. I lift my head a bit, and try to get her attention; she ignores me, but I call out to her anyways; "Bear, they're going out. We have to stay here."

"Can I come?" Bear asked mom. She didn't seem to hear; humans seldom do. "Mom, Can I come?" Her tail was spinning again, with such force that her entire back end was swaying back and forth like a transport trailer on a winding road. She gave up as dad entered the room, and turned to him instead. "Dad, can I come? Are we going to the park? I love the park. Dad, can we go to the park?"

Dad glanced down at her fondly, and scratched her between her two black ears. He said something in a nice voice, and I could make out "go" and "work". I felt a brief stab of jealousy that he was petting her and not me; but she was just a kid and nearly twenty years younger than me, after all. And I guess if I had been begging for attention like her he would have petted me too; but I have more dignity than that.

Mom and dad are moving towards the door, and Bear is frantically zipping around them in a panic. "Don't forget me!" she was crying, "I wanna come to!" Pathetic. I jump to the floor, feeling the strain in my legs even for such a short drop -I guess I must be getting old. I calmly walk to the door to say goodbye as they leave, and watch Bears tail suddenly go as still as a stone. I guess she realized she's staying here.

I hear the car start up, and I return to my chair. Before I settle, I deal with an itch on my back leg, gnawing just a bit for relief. Then I settle in. A few minutes later, Bear trudges her way back upstairs. I hear her climb slowly on the big bed in the guest room; that's a nice spot, too. Lots of sun. Maybe I'll join her in a bit.

11:02am

Bear is snoring. And taking up most of the bed. I moved up to join her an hour or so ago; I guess I like her company, but don't ever tell her that. That darn Rottweiler is sprawled out and taking up at least three quarters of the bed. I'm curled up next to her, but I admit I appreciate her warmth. It’s sunny outside, and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t rather be outside. I sigh contently. Bear twitches a bit in her sleep.

Kozmo, one of the cats, jumps up on the bed; he freezes for a moment. I don't think he realized we were already up here. He looks at me as if he were asking permission -not that felines ever listen to what us canines have to say, even though it's pretty much a given that what we think makes a lot more sense. I glare at him for a second, and think about chasing him a way. "Whatever," I mumble, and rest my head on Bear's flank. Other than the twitching, she hasn't budged, by the way. And humans say Rottweiler's are supposed to be guard dogs. Kozmo curls up next to Bear, and closes his eyes.

I wish it was lunchtime. I'm hungry. Ah, well. Mom should be home soon.

1:31pm

Mom’s still not home. I’m sitting in the window downstairs, where I have a good view of the driveway. It’s sunny and warm, and I can see little specs of dust dancing in the beams of light that gather in pools on the hardwood floor next to me. There’s a bird on the fence next door, but I was never much interested in birds; I’m a beagle after all, not some silly retriever with no thought in his head except “fetch!”

At the sound of a car, I know she’s home; Bear crashes down the stairs and arrives at the front door right after me. She pushes past me, eager to greet mom first; the silly canine doesn’t really mean to be so pushy, she just doesn’t realise her own strength. Still, I growl at her in warning, and she apologizes.

Mom steps in, and we rush her; she’s carrying something, but I can tell right away it’s not food. I dismiss it, and run for my bowl. Bear runs in circles, her long legs slipping and sliding on the kitchen floor, and she almost manages to trip mom. “Food!” I bark impatiently. “Please!” I just think to add. Dad’s always telling me not to be rude.

We eat pretty quickly; I watch Bear out of the corner of my eye as I eat, making sure she doesn’t try to sneak some of my food. I’m not kidding – I’ve seen her do it. She’s watching me as she eats, too, though I have no idea why. I’d never do anything like that to her. Honest.

I finish up, and head right for the back door. Mom’s already there waiting, and she opens it and lets me out. As I’m moving through the door, Bear again smashes her way past, pushing past me like she can’t even see me. And dad calls me rude!

I gotta go pretty bad, but once outside I stop and sit on the edge of the deck. I close my eyes for a minute, and raise my muzzle to the sun. Winter is fine enough, I suppose, but boy am I glad spring has arrived. I can hear the birds, and another dog down the street calling hello. The air smells fresh and crisp, like dirt and water, flowers and fur, like an endless meadow right in the middle of the city. The warmth of the sun feels like its charging me, filling me with life. Even the wood of the deck beneath me is warm, and feels pleasant on my flanks.

I break out of my revere and head down into the grass, and do my business. Bear has already finished, and is standing off to one side, waiting for me. I could just ignore her, and she would go away eventually. But I’m feeling pretty good. I’m even feeling a pleasant burst of puppy like energy, so I break into a sudden run towards her. She braces herself, trying her Rottweiler best to look tough, and I hit the brakes just before her, laughing. I dart off in the other direction, and she chases; she’s laughing with me.

I lead her on a chase around the yard, and then we trade and I chase her for a bit. A little later we chase a squirrel. Mom has looked out at us a couple times, but seems fine with letting us stay outside and play. Spring was created just for us canines, I’ve decided. Could it ever be more perfect?

5:32pm

“Is dad here yet?” Bear asked in a murmur. She’s been napping again, and looks to have just awoken. She looks a little out of it –again- as she rests her gigantic head on the chair next to me. She sniffs at my face, and I grumble at her not to be rude.

“Does it look like he’s here?” I reply sarcastically.

Bear actually lifts her head and looks around. “I don’t see him,” she sounds puzzled.

I sigh, letting my breath pump out like a bellows in exasperation. No one realizes how tough it is to be me, I swear. “You silly twit, I was being sarcastic. Of course he’s not here.”

Bear let her head fall, resting again on the cushion next to me, as if supporting her silly head next to me would somehow actually hold up her entire body. She looks a little disappointed. “Oh,” she mumbled. I actually almost feel bad that I might have hurt her feelings.

Mom is moving around the house, and I hop past Bear to the floor. She follows me, as I go to see what mom’s up to. She’s in the kitchen, and I can smell something cooking. Human food smells so much better than ours! It hardly seems fair.

Bear hears something, and rushes past me to our spot in front of the window. Her bum is swaying back and forth like an uneven load in a transport tuck, and I jump up beside her. The car is in the driveway! And there! Its dad! He’s home! My tall is whipping around out of control, but I don’t care. I call out to him, and Dad looks up at the window and smiles. He waves, and starts down the driveway. As if shot from a gun, the two of us race towards the front door, nearly ending up in a collision and pile-up there. The door opens, and he steps in. “Hey guys,” he says. “Yeah, relax, I’m home,” I grab a cat toy, and offer it with a smile. “Look what I brought you dad!” He takes it, and I could just die from happiness.

Dad’s home!

Nobody puts baby in the corner!

2012-07-13T19:28:00.001-04:00

Another Story Bit

2012-05-30T16:42:00.000-04:00

Heaven. I had heard of Heaven. Everyone had. Heaven was a Gatari built station out in the middle of nowhere, far out on the arms of the Milky Way. Unlike most stations, Heaven was not actually within a system, but floating in the black in between. I’m not sure what her Gatari name was, but Heaven was the English name it won as soon as the earliest human travelers arrived. As the story goes, a pirate/smuggler/trader (depending on who is telling the tale) had docked, and when her captain walked onto the commons, he loudly announced “I’ve died and gone to Heaven.” No one is sure whether he was referring to the prostitutes that walked the decks in a dozen species, the sprawling black market, or the abundance of drug, violence, liquor and depravity – because shortly after the remark was heard, he was stabbed in the back there in the commons. He bled to death on the deck while scavengers sold his crew into slavery, and dismantled his ship for parts. Or so the story goes.