What Bohemian Rhapsody Did Right


I meant to put this up while it was still a little more relevant but I’ve had family visiting and a WIP to work on, so get off my back.

Okay, we’re all aware of what I take issue with in the movie. Now, let’s talk about what I liked.

Continue reading “What Bohemian Rhapsody Did Right”


(This rant is about as long as) Bohemian Rhapsody


It’s no secret I’ve had…reservations about the new Queen movie. And I think Queen movie might be the best way to describe it as it’s not really “his story” (referring, of course, to Freddie Mercury) and glosses over far too much for me to say “biopic” in anything other than heavily emphasized quotes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and this is where I’m landing. SPOILERS AHEAD, although not really as what I have to address are the fictionalized accounts of events and anyone who has done their research knows better… Continue reading “(This rant is about as long as) Bohemian Rhapsody”

Strangehouse Books seeks women writers for horror anthology ‘Not All Monsters’

cropped-new-tentacleNOT ALL MONSTERS: an anthology

This anthology will be edited by Sara Tantlinger and released by Strangehouse Books in the fall of 2020.

From the editor:

“There are monsters in every woman’s life. And while maybe not ALL monsters are so bad, I want you to tell me about the dark and twisted ones. Give me protagonists who take no shit. Show me women who save themselves. Does the hero slay the beast, or is she the monster? All types of monsters, protagonists, and antagonists are welcome here. I am looking for speculative fiction containing strong prose with character-driven stories that convey powerful messages. I am particularly drawn to the beautiful grotesque, gothic elements, the macabre, and poetic prose, but I welcome all well-crafted stories to be submitted.”

All writers who identify as women are welcome to submit.

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Heroes and Villains

In Idle Hands, I wrote “One rarely casts oneself as the villain of their own story.”

The funny thing–the absolutely hilarious irony of that statement is I ALMOST ALWAYS cast myself as the villain in mine.

Look, I wasn’t always a nice person. In fact, I hesitate to call myself one now…although there is a distinct difference between being an occasionally cynical, openly critical person and being actively mean to others, I guess. Continue reading “Heroes and Villains”

Long time, no…anything

Now that I’m officially back on my writing horse…hopefully not to just fall off and back into video games now that I’m saying the words “out loud”…I feel it’s probably time for the obligatory update post.

All other deadlines reached and stories either accepted or rejected (with the exception of one still riding the fence) and while the game is still technically in hiatus, I’m focusing on my two main long-form projects: The Girl Who Knew Monsters, a prospective novella and The Black Crow Flies, a (much darker) sequel to This Mortal Coil, which, incidentally, received its first (and 5 star!) review!

I’ll probably fall behind again on Bleeders’ Digest, as I seem wont to do (especially with the added distraction of learning the ukulele!), but hopefully Mister John Clewarth will be back to help pick up the slack. He always gives us such great content.

Anyway, back to work for me. Until next time, my fellow minions of the macabre!

The Path of Most Resistance

Shirtsleeve weather came and my stepfather went.

I meant to write about the mourning doves that nested around my parents’ house as he languished. How their young had left their nests and his spirit still clung in violent breaths. How a baby robin had fallen from another nest, was rescued by my fiancé and placed in one of the empty nests. The one with the mother most reluctant to leave. Meanwhile, my mother’s Jack Russell terrier unceremoniously chomped a dove as it was perched outside the back porch and killed it. Snatched it right off the window ledge. Or was it the railing? I can’t remember if this was before or after my stepdad passed. I meant to write while this was fresh but…it was traumatic, watching him die. So much so I find it difficult to revisit.

I don’t want to remember. I want to pretend it didn’t happen.

Everything else is just before and after. I think my family thinks I’m mourning wrong, but that’s wrong. Truth is, how I feel is nobody’s business. And, as long as I’m posing no direct harm to anyone else, I’ll cope however I’m damn well able.

Things are good now. I mean, Mister Fenris is no better than he was…in fact he’s probably worse, but there’s still hope on the horizon. I’ve got a better job now. I’ll be able to live better and, by extension, he’ll hopefully live better, too. Writing is going well. I feel like I can finally put a lot of my ghosts to rest.

The path here was by no means ideal, but I think I’m in a good place now. So, of course, I’m counting the hours. How long will I get to stay?

The Good, the Bad and the Indifferent (News)

Let me start with the bad, which is ongoing and will only get worse. My mom called in hospice for my stepdad. He’s in and out of the hospital to have fluid drained. My mom, a faithful woman, is praying for a miracle. I, a faithless one, can only hold her hand and wait.

My feelings about this will always be complicated, not unlike my relationship with my stepfather. But we were never enemies, and I wouldn’t wish this fate on my worst one. I still marvel at how emotionally shut-down I am about it. I think I’m just in a constant state of waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? And, until then, I’m locked in a sort of stasis, awaiting my cue to…feel and deal with whatever comes next.

On a lighter note, I have my choice of two good, well-paying government jobs (to continue screening for) and I’ve chosen the more stable of the two so that I may continue working on my various projects as well as be present for my family. And on an even brighter note, my will to write has returned.

Maybe it’s the desire to escape, maybe it’s the willingness to feel other feelings not my own, but my mojo seems to have returned all in a rush. I remember what it felt like when I was working on my novel–when writing was fun and didn’t feel like work. Ideas flow through my fingers to the page, and for this I’m so grateful. Putting myself in the place of the characters, reacting to their situations–this was how I wrote it all and I can’t believe it took me so long to slide into their roles again.

For the longest time, it felt like I forgot how to write; forgot I enjoyed writing. Turns out I’ve just been going about it all wrong.

Newsletter is probably still going to be late, though, as I have been distracted (clearly), and John Clewarth is still working on a special segment of his own.

Also, for the longest time…or what felt like it anyway…I was convinced I was a big failure whose good chances had all passed them by. Cruel tricks a mind can play on its thinker.

A weird time to feel good about my life while others’ close to me are falling apart. The world just keeps turning. Sometimes I think it’d fling us all off if it knew how. But it doesn’t just sit and wait for us either. So you make the best of what you can while you can.

Be kind to each other out there, and to yourselves. ❤