The Power of a Word

Hey there, friends and fans! It has been a fair while since I’ve met you here with fresh words of wisdom, advice, or even admission. For this I do apologize. Life has certainly thrown me for a loop lately, but that is another matter entirely. I hope whatever vacations or projects this warm summer has brought you have gone swimmingly (speaking of swimming, I’ve hope you’ve gotten some of that in as well). I’m working on getting all of my projects and inspirations back on track, and hopefully this will be the first step in jumping back in head first.

I’m currently re-reading the epic saga that is Stephen King’s magnum opus. The Dark Tower series has always called to me in a variety of ways, but for one reason or another it has always been too vast for to consume at once. I am glad to say that, as of this paragraph, I am less than 100 pages away from finishing book number six (“Song of Susannah,” for you newcomers) – the farthest I’ve ever been in the series, and I came across a word today that changed everything. Wordslinger.

Wordslinger. Such a simple word, but it contains a power I never thought I would consider so seriously. To understand the depth of this title, given to the great Sai King by Roland of Gilead himself, you must first understand a little of the tale. The gunslingers, of which Roland is technically the last (and the last teacher of the last generation – it’s all about the timeline), are revered gunfighters, peacemakers, lawbringers, warriors, and more. The very title of gunslinger is an elevated one reserved for those who, above all else, remember the face of their fathers. A gunslinger is someone born and bred to ensure the proper order is kept and justice is served wherever he goes.

All throughout the series, the title and position of gunslinger is revered to an almost holy level – some would even argue a fully religious respect of the gunslinger is given by certain characters. The legend of the gunslinger is similar to our tales of the good cowboy who rides into town to save the day, but holds more depth and meaning because, as previously mentioned, they are the law, the strength, the power of good that is represented by the line of Eld and given by birth and years of physical and mental training. Only the best of the best become gunslingers, and their title – their responsibility – is to bring equality, peace, justice, and strength to the world. The premise of Roland referring to King as a wordslinger comes from the fact that part of the story of the fifth and sixth books in the series is realizing that King is writing the tale of these characters, and the people are living the story. A bit of an old writer’s fantasy, of course, but no less powerful than any other version of the same idea.

Now you can see, perhaps, a little of why the term wordslinger gave me literal chills. To imagine that power, that sense of responsibility, being given to a writer is nothing short of breathtaking. My mind instantly soared when it dawned on me that the term wordslinger can hold the weight of the world. As an author, and one who has been met lately with quite a bit of creative resistance, that idea has an incredibly freeing power. I am a wordslinger. A love of the written word, for creative arts, for producing whole worlds with nothing more than my thoughts and some way to record them all work together to make that a reality. I am a wordslinger.

I want each and every one of you to ponder that idea for a moment. If you write, whether it’s long fiction, nonfiction, journal articles, blogs, or poems, the same is true for you. You are a wordslinger. Literature has long presented a means of freedom and escape for those who read it. Sometimes that may mean a book in the hands of a bedridden individual can help them soar above the highest peaks, or swim in the deepest ocean when they otherwise might not have been able to. It can mean that a depressed individual who otherwise may not have been able to cope with the day can break out of the darkness by opening a book and diving into the words inside. It can mean that countless people faced with countless problems can be united by the power of bound pages and have similar ideas and unique understandings of the words therein. There is no end to the power presented by a wordslinger.

That goes for all mediums of art as well. You can be a brushslinger, a stoneslinger (not a bad term for either a builder or a sculptor, I think), or a lensslinger. Whether you refer to it in those terms or not, the power of creativity is, as I’ve expressed before, one of the things that makes this life bearable. It brings joy, peace, and understanding to the masses. Creativity is ageless, sexless, nonjudgmental, and open for all manner of interpretation. It is one of the rewarding, and the most difficult, blessing to be given, and it is not something that should necessarily be taken lightly. Whether your creative work is intended just for you or for the masses, it is an outlet both during creation and for every experience it brings after.

That does not mean it doesn’t come without responsibility, however. Even if it is just for yourself, creating worlds and characters is a power like no other. For myself, as well as many other authors, it’s not so much like creating the worlds sometimes, as it is opening the gate and letting the world out, letting the characters dance over the pages and tell their tale. Or, as the novel version of King puts it, letting the stories flow from his navel and write themselves with his body. As a wordslinger, the power may sometimes slow to a trickle, may even tighten to a drip, but when the flow opens back up it can be quite a flood.

That realization has left me with a sense of renewed purpose, a direction to move in, a proverbial light at the end of the tunnel that I am now striving to move toward in an effort to regain sight of the things I have been missing. I am working on a new string of edits and brainstorming some new connections and stories, with the hope of jumping back on the creative wagon quite soon. In the meantime, I will keep my newest motivation in mind, beyond all things that may try to suppress my creative abilities, and I implore you to do the same. No matter what happens, no matter what life throws at you, there is one phrase to remember above all others when your task, your purpose, seems to be escaping you: I am a Wordslinger.

I am, as always, forever grateful for my favorite author, one of my greatest inspirations, and a man whose level of genius I hope to one day at least be able to touch for a moment. Without you and your words much of my current inspiration may have fallen to the wayside. To the ever brilliant, always creative, and bone-chillingly scary master of horror, the chief Wordslinger, Stephen King; Thankee-sai.

10 years

Hey there, friends and fans! I hope life is flowing smoothly as schools are let out and summer heats us up. Things are going fantastic in some aspects on my end. Recently I worked with a local craft retailer and now my book (https://amzn.to/2KLRvsY ) is available in a real brick-and-mortar store in my hometown! The store, Between Friends, is located on Main Street in Tazewell, Va., so, if you’re ever in town and want to pick up a signed copy of my book, make your way there!! Of course, if you’re interested in a signed copy and don’t have the means to go to the store, reach out to me!

This year is something of a monumental one for me. Not only do I have my first print work available for purchase, but this year marks the 10 year anniversary of my high school graduation. Specifically Sunday, June 9, I had officially been out of high school for ten years. And it has been quite a whirlwind decade. I went from being a high school kid with dreams of published works, to being able to say my book is for sale in a local retailer, for one. For another, I went from thinking I knew something of the world, to being more than willing to admit there are still tons of things I would love to learn. But, most importantly, I’ve found the love of my life, I’ve learned countless life lessons, and I have an idea of just who I want to be when all is said and done.

I’ve done a lot of soul searching in my day and I’ve tried a lot of different career paths in the last ten years, and I’ve landed right where I am. In high school I was very stubborn and had little on mind besides my writing. Ideas and inspirations for teaching and other jobs would come into my mind and I would close the door on them. I wanted nothing more than my novels. By all means, that is still something I want for myself. The idea of being able to support my lifestyle and my family solely with my writing still brings a tear to my eye, but it has taken some focusing to really figure out the specifics. I find myself desiring to teach, to live an awesome life, and to enjoy every waking moment I have available to me. But it took some navigating to figure out.

I went for multiple jobs, in multiple places, and I still find myself returning to the desire that is deep-rooted in my heart. With each venture that I try, I find myself drawn more to teaching and to writing, and I remind myself time and time again of the days all those years ago when those were my dreams. I am one step closer to achieving those dreams each and every day, and in times of doubt that is what I try to look at. Basically what I’m getting at is I’ve fought tooth and nail – with the outside world as well as myself – to become the man I’ve wanted to be. I’ve considered my dreams and my destiny and everything else, and it always brings me back here. I may not have achieved my total dream yet, but I’m on the way. Ten years after I left high school behind, I’m almost where I imagined I would be.

So my message to all new graduates, or to those old ones who may have lost sight of their goal; don’t give up. Don’t put your dreams aside. Chase them until you can’t anymore. Nothing is too fantastic, too far-fetched. Nothing is impossible. You may have just been turned out in the “real world,” but that doesn’t mean you should hesitate for even one second to make it your own. We’re given a purpose on this earth. It may take some of us a while to reach it, or even to figure it out, but at the end of the day it’s there. You’ve just got to go for it.

Apply for that job you don’t think,you’re qualified for. Reach for the goal you don’t think is quite withing reach. Take the leap, even if you’re not sure where you’ll land. Even if you don’t reach your goal right away, you’ll be closer than you were. No one should live a live that doesn’t make them happy. Some of us may have to struggle to get there, but it’s worth it. After all, if we never felt pain or strain, how would we recognize peace when we finally reach it? Put aside the worries, doubts, old days, and old things that hold us back and keep us from making our dreams a reality. Whatever you’re going through just make sure you have a goal in mind. No matter how great or small that goal may seem, go for it. Don’t give up. If you feel like it’s your destiny, your purpose, your heart and soul’s desire – chances are it is. And it could be exactly what you’re made for.

No obstacle or dream is too big. What do you want to do no that you’ve put the old days behind you? Feel free to reach out and share!

Writing, Learning, Publishing

Hey there, friends and fans! March has been a wild ride, so far, and I’ve enjoyed every minute! From self-publishing my collection, to presenting in an Appalachian Authors event, it’s been interesting.

Since publishing my short story collection, I’ve been enjoying the fact that people are reading a complete collection of my work. That is an incredibly surreal experience, honestly. Reviews have been coming in, either online or by word of mouth, and so far it seems people are enjoying the book. That couldn’t mean more to me. As someone who has struggled with getting their work out there, while simultaneously feeling like writing is absolutely my main purpose, I can tell you it’s a relief to see positivity coming in from you guys!

Yesterday presented me with an opportunity unlike any I’d had before. The C. Bascom Slemp Memorial Library in Big Stone Gap, Va. invited myself and three other local authors to read our works in an Appalachian Authors Day. This event was no sold out concert hall but rather a small, intimate meeting of like-minded individuals. Through the evening we discussed our work, our inspirations, movies, music and the craft itself. Frankly, it was eye-opening. Being in a room with other authors who value writing the way I do, who write similar works, and who have conquered the “beginning stages” of publication that I’m now in was nothing short of a relief. It was kind of like when you’re a freshman in school and a senior offers to help you learn the ropes.

The authors I was with: Neva Bryan (https://www.nevabryan.com/ ), Kari Kilgore, and Jason Adams (http://www.jasonadams.info/) are all amazing writers and awesome people. (Kari and Jason can also be found here http://spiralpublishing.net/ ). They all write stories of varying genre and length, and have been writing for quite some time. One thing we all have in common is a type of story that can be categorized as Appalachian Gothic. Of course, the Gothic is one of my favorite classic genres, and Appalachian Gothic is something I hadn’t really thought about in relation to my work until last night. But it perfectly describes a lot of my work.

One thing you need to know going forward is, if you give an author the chance to talk about his or her work – be prepared to listen. We may not always be great at promoting ourselves, but if you give us a chance to speak our mind and talk about our work, you won’t find many that will pass up the opportunity. Being in the zone last night and getting to talk about writing is something I haven’t done in a while, and it was quite refreshing. It made me remember many of the things I may have forgotten along the way about the joys of writing. Too often lately I think I’ve looked at parts of the process like a task that I must complete. I’ve looked at publication and the red tape more than embracing the feeling of allowing my mind to soar over the page and letting my ideas spill forth. Too much lately I’ve let myself be concerned with what I “have to do” instead of what I “want to do,” and it is a damaging concept. Letting yourself become too immersed with the musts and the have-to’s in any task is a way to surely make yourself lose the magic of why you started doing it in the first place. I fear, as much as I hate to admit it, that maybe it is that exact affliction that has hindered my creative process somewhat recently.

Basically, what I have concluded is that I need to return myself to what I love – the bare bones of writing. Yes, I will continue my blog, I will continue publishing works, and I will continue pushing my novels to new readers, but I have a burning desire to get back to fresh creation. There are so many ideas in my head that I’ve let get stagnant. It’s time to revisit them. I plan to try to write more often, complete new works and actually remember what it’s like to pull myself back into the real world after being immersed in my writing and be shocked at the blood and visceral ideas spread across the page. I think by allowing myself time to dive back into my writing, I’ll find what it is I may have lost along the way. You all may see more posts and more pieces of my writing in the future, and I hope you’re going to enjoy everything you see. Keep your eyes open for new works and news, of course!

I want to give a huge shout out to Chris Smith and the C. Bascom Slemp Memorial Library for hosting the event, and to everyone who attended last night, from community members to the authors to my very own loving wife. You all made my first post-publication book signing awesome, and you helped me kick myself into gear. For those of you that weren’t there in body, you were with us in spirit. If any of you find yourselves in Big Stone Gap, Va., I encourage you to make a pitstop at the library on the back side of town. I assure you, you’ll enjoy it. Anyone who wants to have a conversation about literature, feel free to reach out to me anytime. It’s my life, guys! Definitely check out the awesome works by Neva, Jason, and Kari. They are great people with great voices.

If any of you will be in the Abingdon, Va. area on April 13th, feel free to stop by the Washington County Public Library between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. as well. I’ll be there for the first ever Highlands Writers Fair. You can purchase a copy of my work and ask me any questions you’d like to ask about my writing or the craft in general. I’d love to meet you all and say hello! In the meantime, if you haven’t purchased your copy yet or you’d like to leave a review, I’ll link my collection below. If you’ve read the work I encourage you to leave a review (not just for my book – for any book) either on Goodreads, Amazon, or both. If you’d like to submit reviews to magazines as well, that’s also encouraged. The more reviews a work has, the more likely others are going to get word of that work. I know Amazon especially works on an algorithm that allows books with higher amounts of reviews to be seen by and suggested to more people. Even if you leave a one word review, that’s helpful. So review a book, read some new material, and talk to an author about their work. Believe me, you’ll make more than one person’s day.

https://amzn.to/2NuRveK

At Long Last

Hey there, friends and fans! I’m beyond ecstatic to be able to announce to you all that my first ever self-published print work is available for purchase now!

In a rush of quiet editing and preparation I decided to get this short story collection off the ground this month. I have long wanted to be able to have a copy of my own work on the bookshelf, and with the grace of God it’s happened! I sat down and looked at the efforts I’ve made in the past and it dawned on me that for too long I’ve had a pipe dream that just having the book would make things happen. It seems silly, but after talking to some other indie authors (that’s right, even more than before I can count myself among the ranks of indie authors now!) I realized a lot of people make similar mistakes. Rather than accepting that we have the power to get our works to the world, we tend to think that just having them completed should make it happen. I mean, we put all that time into writing, right?

But that isn’t it. It’s got to be a full effort all the way, and I’m very happy I realized that. Having those proof copies come in and being able to hold a book completely full of my work that I put the effort into – needless to say, it awakened something in me. I truly feel, for the first time in a long time, that I have accomplished something as an author. For a long time, especially in the last part of last year, I feel I’ve let myself down in my writing. It’s been hard to focus and get a work out there, and I’ve often found myself just going through the vaguest motions in my publication efforts, content to hope an agent would grab me up based solely on my query letters. But I’m glad to say I’ve taken charge again. I’ve come into my own. I have reached for the stars and grasped my own shining moment. Lame, right? But it does feel amazing.

The stories and poems in the collection are a mix of some older and newer works, a couple of which have been living solely in my computer for quite some time. I am very happy to have a chance to give them life in this collection. Many of the pieces are centered around an Appalachian setting, some even including regional culture. My heritage, of course, is very important to me, so I love giving my work that mountain twist. It means a lot to me to be able to present these works to you all, and I sincerely hope you’ll pick up a copy. If you do, please make sure to leave an Amazon review for the work. Reviews go a long way for indie authors, especially online, and it would mean the world to me!

Also, I do want to thank you all for your endless support. I hope you’ll enjoy the works in the book as much as I enjoy being able to present them to you. And, in case you’re wondering; yes, I’m already considering going the same route for one of my novels soon. Stay tuned! Here’s the link for the work: https://amzn.to/2tC2jOX

Who are “You” when no one is looking?

Hey there friends and fans! It’s been a great start to the year so far. I’ve been on track with a number of projects, and have some big announcements coming soon. One thing that I have been immersing myself in of late is the world created by the astounding author Caroline Kepnes. Recently I discovered the Lifetime/Netflix series “You,” based on the novel of the same name. It absolutely blew me away. The narrative is incredibly tight and it has a quality that I am enthralled with. Upon watching the series in less than 36 hours, I found the novel and its sequel and consumed them ravenously. The story of Joe Goldberg is one that is not at all for the faint of heart, but it is one that is ultimately incredibly rewarding to dive into. Needless to say, I absolutely had to discuss it with you all.

First and foremost what I have to emphasize is that, with Joe, Kepnes creates a character that is equal parts antagonist and protagonist. Joe starts out being a little odd, maybe slightly creepy, and jumps rather quickly into being an obsessive, terrifying individual. A mild-mannered bookstore manager by day, Joe Goldberg lives his life for the books at Mooney’s Rare and Used Books. His life is interesting but generally unremarkable – until Beck shows up. We watch the instant change in Joe from his first lines to his rapidly growing obsession with Beck, and with it we find ourselves both wanting him to succeed and wanting him to get what’s coming to him for the things he does.

I think one of the things I love most about “You” is the first person perspective. This almost stream-of-consciousness tale put its roots in my brain and dug deep. The series and the book both allow us to have a direct line into Joe’s mind. Much of the story is Joe talking in his mind, directly at Beck. He is an individual who I would classify as a megalomaniac with bi-polar tendencies – and I love every second of it. Joe’s need to be one with Beck and his determination to see this love story blossom is both refreshing and terrifying. Once Joe sees Beck and gets the hint of flirtation from her, he becomes a man on a mission that will literally do anything to make her his. Or, rather, from that moment on he thinks of her as his, and he will do anything in his power to make sure she realizes it as well.

One of the things I found to be most incredible about Joe was his idealism about the world. From his very first words to the final page of the novel, Joe is a person determined to make the world work for him and only him. It’s a quality that many people envy, to be honest. Once he gets an idea in his head he won’t stop at anything until he makes it happen. Granted, sometimes that means there will be one less pretentious, privileged, rich kid in the world, but it also sometimes means that the person he wants to help gets helped. No matter what Joe does he is certain the world should be working in his favor and any time that doesn’t happen, he gets falls into a rage that leads him down an ever more dangerous path. His obsession with Beck is what fuels and runs the story, but I think it’s his ego that makes it resonate so realistically for the reader. We all know someone who thinks that everything in the world is a direct reflection on their life. Everything is either happening specifically for them – or specifically against them.

One difference between the series and the novel was Joe’s neighbor, Paco. I have to admit that I was waiting for the kid to slip into the novel for quite a while before I realized that he and his stepdad were just added for the show to, I assume, play more into the quality I mentioned a moment ago and show that Joe isn’t necessarily all bad. It gives him a more human and less sociopathic quality to see him work for the benefit of another person. Another thing I enjoyed was the shattered and disjointed nature of his flashbacks, both of Mooney and Candace. In the books these memories are much less intense and don’t play as much into the current nature of the story in some ways, but seeing that part of Joe’s life is something that allows us to see the damaged way he has grown up. In essence, it’s a way for the reader to see that Beck didn’t create the person Joe is in the story, but that he was already traveling down that path.

I do have to admit that in both the series and the book I was not exactly heartbroken to see Beck fall. Joe upheld her in his mind and made her almost a goddess, but the whole time she was just as self-serving and uninteresting a person as she could be. From her cheating with her therapist – which was admittedly overplayed in the series – to the distance she placed between her and Joe I was repeatedly stumped as to why he idolized her to such an extent. Granted, I do think her fate was a little drastic on Joe’s part, I can’t even pretend to act as if the way he made it happen wasn’t at least a little ironic. But that’s another thing I love about the character. He’s a heck of a smart guy, and when he puts his mind to it, he can really overcome almost any obstacle in his way to achieve his goal. In that way, at least, I think he’s someone we can all learn a bit from. Obstacles are meant to be tackled, right? Granted, in everyday life, we should probably do it a little less murdery.

Overall I was incredibly impressed with the series, and more so with the novel. I do have a bit of regret that I discovered the series first, but I was able to rectify that by tackling the sequel “Hidden Bodies.” I think Joe Goldberg should fall in line with some of those great, if a bit unreliable, narrators of literary history like Salinger’s Holden Caulfield and even Fitzgerald’s great Nick Carraway. He is someone who has a solid, if skewed, view of the world around him, and who is not at all afraid to get his hands dirty to make his own vision a reality.

I am quite excited to see season 2 of You, although I have no delusions that it will fall at all in line with Hidden Bodies, especially given that interesting ending we saw in season 1. One thing I do know – Joe will most definitely discover Love.

I hope you guys enjoyed Joe’s story as much as I have, and I hope you’re awaiting the third book as eagerly as I am. As I mentioned earlier, Kepnes’s writing style has dug itself into my brain and sparked a first person story that I’m excited to develop. As always, keep your eyes open for big news from me as well as more reviews and all things literature and awesomeness. Share this with anyone you think will enjoy it, and feel free to jump in on the conversation. Have a great week, everyone, and keep doing what makes you happy!

*The featured image for this post is from a recently released cover of the book, a snapshot from my reading experience.

Mid-Winter’s Inspiration

Hey there, friends and fans! I hope January has brought each and every one of you some interesting experiences as we dive into a brand new cycle around the sun. It has been a very good year so far on my end. I’ve been making a real effort to take life by the horns and make sure I’m not wasting time on things that just don’t matter.

So far the year has allowed me the opportunity to try some new foods, read some great new books, and start writing a great new work from a different perspective. I’ve been waking up in the mornings feeling a renewed vigor and I’ve been making a conscious effort not to let depression and anxiety change me into someone I’m not. From taking the time to relax, focus on myself a little more, and just make an active effort to reconnect with nature, I’ve seen a lot of changes. I spent the last part of 2018 feeling like someone else was living in my skin – but no more.

One of the most memorable things that I’ve been working on so far is the new story I mentioned. I have become completely enamored by the writing style of Catherine Kepnes. My wife and I binge-watched the Lifetime/Netflix series based on her novel “You,” which led me to subsequently purchase the novel and its sequel. The first person style presented in this novel has blown me away. I’ve toyed around with that perspective before with my writing, but I feel like this book has given me real insight in how to make it work in a brand new way.

I’ve begun a work that allows me to play with this writing style and introduce a character I’m very interested in developing. In addition to this I’ve been working to get some novels completed and ready for self-publishing. I am absolutely going to take charge this year and make sure to put myself out there. I’ve been invited to speak at a couple of writing events this year, and I couldn’t be more excited to start the year off right.

As I sit and watch the snow fall, feeling the inspiration rise again, I am very excited for the multitude of opportunities this year is going to offer. I hope each and every one of you is feeling some sort of inspiration to make your lives happy in a great and new way. 2019 will be an amazing year and I can’t wait to move forward. Keep your eyes open for more posts and a return of The Modern Prometheus coming up soon! If you’ve got ideas, suggestions or just want to reach out, feel free to contact me!

Goodbyes and the Road Ahead

This week has been one of the hardest of my entire life. Monday night/early Tuesday morning I got word that my grandmother had gone on to her Heavenly reward after a long struggle with her health. Phyllis C. Mathews was a woman like no other. I can’t think of anyone who has ever been so amazing and lovely.

She lived a life many would call laid back, quaint, and old-fashioned, spending a good portion of her life raising my mom and uncles while my grandfather worked as a farmhand. As her children grew up, Mamaw decided she was going to get a job and became a CNA. With her loving and giving nature, she worked in a nursing home for about 25 years, using her great personality and nurturing abilities to help countless people.

Throughout my life, my grandmother was always someone I knew I could count on, no matter what was happening in my life. If at all possible she would drop everything she was doing to help me, or anyone else, any way she could. She absolutely loved life, she loved her family, and she loved living in the Appalachian Mountains.

One of the hardest parts of the whole thing for me is knowing how different things are going to be now. My grandmother has always been a huge part of my life. From family vacations, to weekly visits when I was a kid, to holidays – we even lived with her for a while – my grandmother was a part of most of the significant parts of my life. I have so many memories of her that I can call on that it’s almost hard to find many where she wasn’t present, or at least thought about.

My grandmother was, in many ways, my rock. She supported me in all my endeavors, and was especially proud of my writing. She would share it with everyone she could and often asked me how it was going. Her encouragement got me through more than a few rough patches, and I owe my progress, in part at least, to the encouragement and love she gave me. She was laid to rest beside of my grandfather, the pair of them overlooking an area of the mountains where they used to live. Over the last few days, I know she has been looking down on us all, trying to comfort us any way she can. After myself and five other family members carried her to her final resting place, she even made sure to send us one more bit of comfort. A solid black cat wandered through the crowd that gathered by her grave and stayed with us through the service. Without a doubt, this was meant to make sure we all knew she would be with us in the future to comfort and support us any way she could. That is a thought that comforts me greatly.

As I move into the post-funeral portion of my life, I have to admit that I am not at all sure how to handle things knowing Mamaw isn’t going to just be on the other side of the phone line when I call. Looking ahead, I honestly can’t imagine the holidays without her. Every year for the last 27 years I have been able to celebrate with her. As many of you know, the time of year between October and January is my absolute favorite. My grandmother shared that love as well. We shared many of the same interests, and we both especially loved celebrating Christmas. As I look ahead to the upcoming season, I just don’t know how things will work this year. I can only hope our family will be able to continue working together in love and remember fondly the matriarch that we lost this week.

Beyond anything else I could even try to say here, I just want to express that my life will not be the same without my grandmother. I know she is happy and pain-free alongside my grandfather in Heaven now, and the fact that she isn’t suffering anymore is of great comfort to me. I will always remember the great times we had, and I will strive to keep the loving and caring nature of my grandmother alive. I hope to be an inspiration to others like she has been. I hope to be able to improve the lives of those around me in the way that she did. Above all, I hope that I make her, my grandfather, my mother – and especially God – proud of the man their influence has molded me into.

As I trudge forward through life, I will be sure to keep the memories of those I have lost alive. I will strive to succeed in all I do, and continue to reach for the stars. Mamaw, I love you, and I miss you. I will never forget you. Enjoy your Heavenly reward, and be sure to tell Papaw we all miss and love him, too. We’ll see you again one day.

The image attached to this post is one of the images of my grandmother I’ve always loved. Taken at Ripley’s Aquarium of the Smokies in 2012, it depicts just a hint of the fun-loving nature of the woman I knew. This was taken before her health began to decline much, as well, which makes the memory even better.

God bless you all, and thank you for reading this. Be sure to tell your loved ones how much they mean to you, and keep your eyes open. Don’t let life pass you by. Enjoy every minute of it.

New Short story, Summer Blog-A-Day!

Hey there friends and fans! The day is finally here! It’s my day to contribute to the Summer Blog-A-Day event, and I’ve got something fun lined up for you, as promised. This short story is one that is actually a separate, but relatable prequel piece to one of my novels, currently awaiting its second edit. I’m ecstatic to present a bit of my version of the myth that you’ll all quickly come to recognize. It’s not explicitly explained in the story, but it’s pretty clear this story takes place quite some time in the past, and if I’ve embellished anything, I certainly did so for a reason, and I do hope it will be enjoyed. Without further ado, here is my brand new bit of work, tentatively titled “By the Light of the Moon.”

 

Moonlight shone brightly through the air, thick rays cutting the heavy fog that lay on the ground. The men crept silently forward through the forest, each fearing the next shadow would be guarding their quarry. Oiled rifles glinted in the night as six pairs of eyes darted nervously around in the hazy darkness, hunting a creature they weren’t sure of, each of them somewhat terrified it was also hunting them. They all froze as a twig snapped in the darkness, silencing the few night bugs that still filled the Autumn air with their song, sounding like an explosion to the overstrained ears of the hunting party. They were more on edge than ever as they looked around them in the darkness, each expecting an attack to come from the most unexpected place.

The men had been brought out by a string of cattle slaughter on their farms. More than two dozen animals had been killed between the six farms in the last week and a half. The killings started at the Jones farm on the far side of the mountain, progressing a bit farther over the mountain to a new farm each night. The farmers had dealt with the killing their own way for the last week, until the handful of men stumbled upon one another in town that morning. Each had come with his own story of hardship and gore. None of them had been able to kill the creature. In fact, none of them had even seen it. Until Josiah Ramey showed up.

At six foot six, the dirty farmer was larger than life and twice as ugly, and he came packing a tale that ran chills through the rest of them. He’d heard his horse being attacked in the night and had run outside with his gun, expecting to rustle up a coyote or even a bear. He’d had no idea what to do when the beast he saw there stood straight up and howled at the moon. He swore the beast was every bit of eight feet tall and looked fit to rip a house apart if it took the notion to.

Standing there in the square, discussing the beast Ramey claimed to have shot at, a plan had come together. The animal had been crossing the mountain killing one farm at a time, almost on a schedule. If it had hit the Ramey’s farm the night before, it was sure to be after the Randolph farm that night if the pattern held up. Assuming there was a pattern, that is.

The men all knew that Ben Randolph, the owner of the small sheep farm at the base of the mountain, was away downriver visiting his father. Word had come to some of them that his father died a couple of days prior and Randolph had been hooked into burying the old man, leaving his wife alone in the house on a night when the killer beast could be coming to destroy the place.

“If she’s there alone when it comes and nobody is there to help, there’s no tellin’ what ruin that man’ll come home to. Just had his Pa die, he don’t need to find his woman ripped to bits too,” Ramey encouraged.

Tom Jones, who felt certain the barbarous Josiah Ramey had more than the Randolph man’s best interest at heart, nonetheless was inclined to agree. He’d seen the way the beast had torn into his own small farm. Three hogs, a mess of ducks and his dog had all been taken in the night without so much as a peep that he had heard. Whatever the creature was, it was dangerous. No matter how queer the Randolph’s appeared to be, no man should be made to bury his father and his wife in the same week. So, he and the other men had agreed. They’d meet at the edge of the Ramey field in case the thing had more business to attend to there and make their way through the few miles of forest that led to the Randolph homestead.

Now, more than halfway through the journey, with nothing to show for it but a bunch of fear-and-sweat soaked farmers tugging their planks in the woods, he wondered if he might be regretting his decision.

“Sorry boys,” came a whisper from the darkness. “I can’t see a thing through this fog. Dern stick coulda jumped up and bit me.”

“Mayhap it will yet, if you don’t shut that hole in yer head, Bob White,” Jones threatened, feeling his own heart rate slow down a hair at the knowledge that their quarry hadn’t decided to make them its latest meal.

The other men snickered into the forest as they started moving again. Bob White whispered an apology as Jones lay a hand on his shoulder to let him know no harm had been done. The hearts of the men pumped with renewed ferocity as they went forward. Within minutes they had covered more than half a mile, entering the clearing that was the halfway point between the two farms. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air. They cautioned each other with just a glance, each of them nodding as the message was passed on. The moonlight illuminated the clearing like a spotlight, the fog rolling through the high grass in the small open area, exposing and once more hiding the body in the center.

Jones approached slowly, signaling the others to hang back. He could feel small bones under his feet as he got closer to the body. The putrid aroma of feces mixed with that of the blood, creating a cloud of scent that turned his stomach as he looked down into the eyes of a dead deer. The animal’s eyes were opened wide in what Jones assumed to be a mix of terror and pain. Organs were spread about the clearing, the animal’s limbs lying feet away from its torso. He realized as the fog rolled away for a moment that this is what he’d been walking on. He felt his gorge threaten to rise in his throat, a belch that tasted suspiciously like the night’s chicken and beans slipping through his lips with a whisper. Jones tensed as darkness fell all around him, a heavy rumbling rising from the distance. His heart skipped a beat as he looked skyward to see a thick cloud siding across the moon. Thunder. It would storm by dawn.

“Well,” came a whisper from just behind him. “I guess it started early.”

He whirled around in a flash, leveling his rifle at Josiah Ramey’s head before he came to his senses. The man shot him a dangerous grin and brushed by him, crouching to examine the deer. The other men crept forward as he looked over the kill.

“Still fresh,” he whispered again, his hoarse voice floating through the low mist like an apparition all of its own. Without a second’s hesitation he plunged his hand into the nest of viscera that was the deer’s open chest, releasing a burst of thin steam. “Very fresh,” he said, pulling his hand out and slinging steaming droplets of blood from his fingers. “Still warm.”

Jones heard one of the other men belch behind him, could almost feel the threat of the man’s vomit rising to his mouth. He crouched down beside of Ramey, leaning in to whisper in the larger man’s ear, a move which likely saved his life. With a rush of air and a ground shaking thud something landed just behind Jones. He whirled around again, raising his gun to see what was happening. Without warning his foot caught on one of the shattered leg bones he’d stepped on before, sending him to the ground under his own weight.

As he lay there, peering through the rolling mist, a larger than possible shadow rose before him. He could see the matted hair of the beast standing out at all angles against the moonlight. His heart slammed into his ribcage, fear flowing through his veins with renewed vigor as he was sure the thing was facing him, preparing to slam into him and rip his life from his body. In an instant he pictured his own body lying shattered and empty like that of the deer. It wasn’t until the thing raised a huge hand-like paw that he realized that it wasn’t facing him, and that the hand he saw shadowed against the pale Autumn light was much more human than should be possible.

He was unable to move as the thing’s paw shot forward, clawing through the air until it met one of the men in front of it. From his angle, Jones was unable to see who. Whoever it was fell backward with a scream of pain and fear. He saw the darkened figure he recognized as his own closest neighbor, Jim Hall. Hall shoved his rifle forward into the beast’s face, his prized Remington getting one shot off before the thing grabbed his arm. He saw the beast flinch as the bullet struck it, a growl rising through the air, once more silencing all night life in the area. He could feel the warbling tone of the beast’s anger flowing through his body, as if the very air itself was vibrating with the beast’s malice. He watched as it swiped the gun out of Hall’s hand and grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground as it released its hold on his arm.

Hall swung his arms forward, striking the creature about the face and shoulders, his feet flying forward and kicking every other part he could reach. Jones felt, rather than heard Ramey finally going into action. The big man was rising to his feet, leveling his powerful shotgun at the beast’s back. Jones could sense that it was going to do no good. As he watched, the beast pulled Hall toward its face and let out something that sounded like a mix between a bark and a scream that ended in a long, eerie, trailing howl as it raised its head to the sky. The men felt as if they could tell what was coming before it happened, but none of them were prepared for the violence and finality of it.

Hall took a deep breath as the thing loosened its grip on him for a moment. In the next instant the beast locked eyes with him, and he knew his life was nearly over. The other men all raised their guns, Jones raising to one knee as he watched the beast open its mouth wide than anything he’d ever seen. In the clearing five weapons prepared to fire as the beast darted its head forward, pulling Hall’s head into its gaping maw and slamming its jaws shut. They heard one whimper from the man before the beast let his body fall to the ground, crunching the bones of its prey in its jaws as blood and chunks of skull slipped out from between its lips.

The shotgun blast nearly deafened all of them. Ramey lunged backward with the force as his weak legs threatened to give out on him. The beast bent forward with the force of the blast that slammed into its back. Chunks of fur and blood rose into the air, splattering the three men closest to the beast and turning the thickening mist a dull pinkish red in the glowing moonlight. The beast rose slowly this time, heavy mist rising from its skin as the open wounds on its back slowly closed themselves, fresh flesh knitting itself together as if by some unseen hands. The thing turned around slowly, deep red eyes glowing like coals in the darkness as it met Jones’s gaze and began growling once more. He could sense the thing preparing to pounce on him as another shotgun blast tore through the night. This time it was the thing’s chest that ripped itself apart under the high-pressure buckshot, sending the thing flying off its feet and right on top of the twitching heap that was all that was left of Hall.

“Run boys,” Ramey shouted from beside them as he reloaded. “We gotta get there now.”

Without a second thought, Jones took off, hearing the other men behind him. They ran like none of them ever remembered running before, thinking only of getting to the Randolph farm ahead of this thing and, hopefully, of finding a way to put it down once they got there. For just a moment he wondered if maybe they were acting a little harshly, knowing the kind of damage a close shot with Ramey’s shotgun should do to any animal that lives and breathes. With that kind of spread and stopping power hitting it in the chest at such a close range, it should have blown a hole clean through it. But hadn’t he seen the same shot take it in the back? And the thing had literally healed right before his eyes. Is it possible anything different would happen with a shot to its chest?

As if in answer to his question he heard the enraged snarl of the thing cut through the night just before he broke the tree line. One of the other men let out a cry that was either fear or pain. Jones honestly didn’t have time to tell. He was plunging into the forest, cutting through the thick brush until he burst on the beaten horse track that had been used by anyone hunting in these woods for years. His feet flew, his muscular body carrying him faster than the others. Soon he could hear the panicked footfalls of the other hunters behind him, the clodding sound of Ramey seeming just behind him. With another snarling howl and crash of brush, he heard the beast hot on their trail. His heart raced faster at the thought of the gigantic terror slamming into the ground, gaining precious inches as it pursued them. Cold sweat ran down his back as he felt the ground shake beneath the thing’s long gait. What in the world had they discovered in the woods tonight? Just what dreaded beast from Satan’s own court had disrupted life in his mountains? And how in the name of God were they supposed to get rid of it?

These questions and more flowed through the minds of all the men as they scurried through the darkened forest, hoping their not-so-fearless leader was taking them in the right direction. The last man in the line, the oldest and slowest, was pushing himself as heard as his heart, lungs, and legs would allow him to. He could feel the beast’s thunderous footfalls seeming just inches behind him. “I’ve just got to get there. I’ve just got to get there,” he told himself over and over again as his lungs screamed for more oxygen and his legs told him of their pain. As he was beginning to worry that he just wouldn’t make it, he spied ahead the break in the trail that meant the forest was coming to an end. Hope blossomed in his heart. If they were at the forest’s end they were only about half a mile from the Randolph place. There they would be able to make a stand against this thing. His wife’s face flashed before his eyes as he gained renewed energy. He pushed himself along a little faster as he began to think this wasn’t the end after all. Keeping his eyes on the edge of the forest and the silhouettes of his fleeing comrades, he didn’t see the pine root sticking out of the path. The same pine root that had caused his wagon to hang up more than once on this path. The same pine root that now snagged his boot and sent him flying forward, his iron flying out of his hand and striking his nearest companion in the back, leaving him temporarily empty-handed.

The man slammed into the ground hard enough to make his teeth snap together, severing the tip of his tongue and shattering a handful of his remaining good teeth. The sensation rang through his head as if he’d shoved his head into a clanging church bell. His body slid forward on the bare earth, scraping his chest and arms in a dozen different places and gouging a hole in the side of his cheek that nearly tore through to the inside of his mouth. Confusion set in instantly once he finally came to a halt. He was unsure of where he was and why he appeared to be lying on the ground in more pain than he’d felt in years. The sound of the creature coming to a halt behind him, snarling in victory and revenge brought him back to reality. He flipped over, his hands shooting out to reach for his missing rifle, but it was nowhere to be found. Trembling like a leaf in the wind, he looked up, directly into the eyes of the beast they’d come to find, regretting his decision to join the men on this suicide mission. His bladder loosened as the thing crouched in front of him, looking at him with both a bestial rage and a human curiosity. It scented the air before his face, not making any sudden movements. The man was suddenly painfully aware of his wounds, of the blood pouring down the back of his throat and running out of his split lips and down his chin.

Saliva dripped from the thing’s mouth as its thick, red tongue licked its lips.  He could smell blood and rot on the beast’s hot breath. His heart was beating faster than ever as the beast opened its mouth and loosed another of its snarling howls, sending ropes of bloody saliva over his face.

In an instant the beast locked eyes with the man and slashed one of its huge paws forward, ripping through the flesh of the man’s torso. He felt the creature’s claws scrape his ribs before sinking into his abdomen and tearing a fistful of his body away. Unable to move, or even scream, the man felt the creature push him onto his back and grab his rib cage. With barely any effort at all the thing tore his chest open and ripped his heart out of his body. The last thing the man saw was the beast, unlike anything he’d ever witnessed, toss his still-beating heart into its mouth and bite down.

Feeling its nearly insatiable hunger already rising again, the beast rose to its feet once more and looked toward the edge of the forest, seeing the last of the hunter’s shadows fading just out of reach of the forest’s reaching branches. Bounding forward, the beast once more put on the chase.

Jones heard the beast roaring behind them, heard his neighbor falling, but his legs wouldn’t stop carrying him away. He kept picturing the Randolph woman, a pretty young thing that he’d met once or twice in town, coming out to see what was causing a ruckus with their cattle. He could almost envision the terror on her face as the beast they’d encountered in the forest leapt toward her. She wouldn’t stand a chance if they didn’t warn her. He knew he couldn’t let this happen. A stitch formed in his side as he maintained his rapid pace down the nearly clear hill from the forest. He could see the roof of the Randolph farm over the dying corn stalks remaining in the field. It wouldn’t be much longer now, he knew, as the sound of the beast’s pursuit returned to his ears.

Jones rounded the corner of the garden first, nearly running headlong into Karen Randolph, holding a shotgun of her own.

“Ma’am turn around, we’ve got to get inside,” he panted, the long run finally catching up to him. The others fell in line behind him, ragged breaths filling the night air with even more steam.

“What in the Lord’s name is going on,” she asked them in a voice that could make the angels cry, raising her gun to point loosely at the group of men. “I heard this shootin’ and carryin’ on out here. What in the world are you men doin’?”

“There’s some kinda animal out there, ma’am,” Jones started, before Josiah Ramey cut him off.

“There ain’t no time to explain out here, Mrs. Randolph. We got to get inside ‘fore our death comes outta them woods.”

“I won’t be invitin’ a bunch of rough necked sweaty woodsmen in my house in the dark o’the night. Now tell me what in the world is goin’ on.”

“A beast ma’am, “Jones pleaded. “It’s taken two of us already. We have to get inside where it’s safe. Shotgun wasn’t strong enough to stop it for more than a minute. We have to go now,” he said as the beast let out a loud snarl, the sound of brush rustling coming from behind them.

Panic finally crossed the woman’s face as she realized what they were saying to her. Jones felt relief flood his heart as he thought she was finally seeing the problem. A cloud covered the moon once again, thunder rumbling heavily in the distance. He felt the first drops of rain pattering down on his bare arms. He kept his eyes locked on the woman’s, silently urging her to move, as the moon broke free of its cover, shedding fresh light on them all. In the sudden burst of illumination Jones could have sworn her eyes flashed a red-goldish color, but a sound from behind them broke his focus.

The beast tore through the underbrush and burst out of the forest directly behind them, less than half the distance it would have had to cover if it followed the path. Standing tall on its hind legs and howling at the moon the creature looked more human than beast, save its shaggy coat and long, canine head. Their time was running out. Jones and the others turned, backing away slowly, guns trained on the creature, until Jones felt his path blocked by the Randolph woman. She was staring straight ahead, eyes locked onto the creature, and she wasn’t budging an inch.

“Mrs. Randolph. Karen,” he shouted, hoping the use of her first name would shake her into action. “We have to get inside. Now.”

But it was too late.

The creature dropped to all fours and bounded forward, reaching them in three long strides of its full-bodied stance. All four of the men felt their hearts constrict in their chests. It was now or never. Josiah Ramey shouted a command, all the men following his lead and aiming for the beast. As the creature once more rose to its towering height above them, all four guns went off, sending more than two pounds of hot lead into the creature’s torso.

The beast was knocked off its feet again, the moon now running between the clouds as if to hide from the terror itself.

A hissing mist rose from the beast as the moon once again came out from behind the clouds, an almost human moaning coming from the blood-soaked shape in front of them. Rain began pelting down as the creature stirred on the ground. As the men watched, the beast stretched its hands and flexed its mighty paws, rising slowly to its feet again. None of them could move. They had put enough firepower to this creature to stop a charging bear, and it was still living. A whimpering scream rose from behind Jones, a sound that seemed to be a mix of fearful and triumphant. He turned quickly, remembering the woman was present. He felt a sliver of guilt for exposing her to such carnage, his own sorrow momentarily confusing what he saw before him.

Karen Randolph was aiming her shotgun at the back of Josiah Ramey’s head. He leapt forward as she pulled the trigger, knocking the barrel of the gun to the side as the creature regained its footing. Two full shells of buckshot were driven into the creature’s unexpectant shoulder, driving it to the ground again with a scream of pain like nothing any of the men had ever heard. Jones stopped short as Karen Randolph loosed a shriek to match that of the beast. With a strength he couldn’t have imagined her having, the woman threw him to the ground and drove a boot clad foot into his sternum, reloading her gun while she did so, aiming it at the men, who were once more aiming on the writhing creature on the ground.

The moonlight was hidden once again as lightning flashed in the sky, rain pelting them harder now. In a muzzle flash that nearly blinded him, Jones watched as the grieved woman emptied her weapon into the back of the man closest to her. With a scream of rage, the beast on the ground sat up, blood pouring from a wound that didn’t seem to want to heal. The buckshot had torn away half the thing’s shoulder, leaving its arm a dangling mess, and had ripped a good portion of its cheek off. Jones finally got his first close view of the creature in that instant, and it was then that he became certain the powers of Hell existed, and he was staring one of them right in the face.

The beast rose slowly to its feet, wolfish legs bringing it to a towering height of at least eight feet, just as Ramey had told them. Dark brown fur coated the thing’s body from head to toe, its blood-soaked torso more muscular than the largest farmhand Jones had ever seen. It hunched forward on its canine legs, a thick brown tail swishing back and forth in the mist. Thick, muscular arms took the place of what should have been the wolf-creature’s front legs. He saw, with an added horror that his earlier observation was correct: the beast’s fur-covered claws were almost identical to human hands. The beast’s head was long and wolfish, huge ears standing tall on the sides of its head. It was the face that made Jones gasp, his breath hitching in chest. Two large red-gold eyes peered out of the blood matted fur at the base of the monster’s snout, glaring at each of them in turn while its long snout, oozing with saliva and blood, showed them the teeth that had taken the lives of two of their friends. Jones was drawn to the left side of the beast’s face, however, certain that he could see something more inside the hole made by the woman’s stray buckshot.

With a howl that sent night birds flying for miles, the creature swiped forward and sunk its claws into the face of the man in front of it, crushing the skull beneath with Ramey hurriedly trying to reload his shotgun while Karen Randolph did the same. Jones regained his feet as the moon came out from behind the cloud again, leveling his gun the thing’s head and firing as Ramey loosed his shot as well. The two shots collided in the air before the beast’s face, causing an explosion that sent fire and shards of metal in every direction. The beast howled in a pained rage and dove forward at Jones, hitting him low across the torso and driving him back to the ground at the edge of the corn. Blood soaked Jones now as he saw the mist once more rising from the beast’s skin.

The creature rose up from its low position on his body, its eyes meeting his as blood and thick ropes of saliva coated his chest. His horror was renewed as he saw the disturbed flesh and bone exposed by the firestorm of the two gunshots. He could see the almost completely dislocated lower mandible, being held in place by a few ropes of sinew and gristle. As he watched the moon escaped the clouds once more, heavy mist rising from the edges of the wolf beast’s head where the light touched it. The creature looked up at the sky, exposing the face beneath the flesh that Jones was certain he’d seen. The torn flesh of Ben Randolph’s cheek was slowly hidden as the flesh knitted itself back over the exposed area.

Ramey, not seeing this, rapidly approached the beast from behind, swinging his gun with all his might. Blood gushed forward as the metal connected with the beast’s head, flowing over Jones’s face. Chunks of flesh and fur flopped forward exposing more of the face within. One red eye remained on the right side of the beast’s head, the mist rising heavily as new flesh knitted over the torn flaps. A scream rang out beside the group, followed by a gunshot that sent Ramey to the ground. At the sound of his wife’s voice, Ben Randolph’s one exposed eye fluttered open. A red-gold glint remained in the eye for a moment as his mouth opened.

“Krrrnnn,” came a guttural growl from within the split head. In an instant the Ben-beast was standing, dragging Jones with it. “Krrreennn,” came the growl again.

The woman stood weeping before the beast as it held Jones in its great paws.

“It’s OK, Ben,” she said to the beast, lightning splitting the sky as the moon was finally covered by the heavy clouds. Fat drops of rain slapped every available surface, pelting Jones’s skin with enough force to leave welts on his face. The beast’s claws flexed, leaving gouge marks in his chest as the woman reached out and touched the beast’s shoulder, the wound her gun had left now closed, only a bright white scar remaining to show where it had been.

Jones, aware the creature was now staring at Karen Randolph, reached slowly for his revolver, realizing it still sat snugly in the holster on his hip. As he drew the weapon slowly, praying the wet bullets would still fire, the beast shot its remaining eye to his face, attracted by the sudden flex of his muscles as he drew the weapon. With no warning, the beast released his shirt with one hand, and shoved its hand through his chest, shredding his left lung and half the organs in his body, before snapping his spine. White hot pain flashed in Jones’s mind as he felt his body fighting to stay alive. Using the last of his strength, he raised the pistol with a shaky hand, and pulled the trigger. The bullet drove through the beast’s chest and upward into Randolph’s chin, sending a gush of blood and gore surging out of the man’s nose and mouth.

He was dropped to the ground before he knew what was happening. The beast dropped to its knees, pulling its breath in in gasps and jerks. Ben Randolph opened his mouth, a whimper escaping from deep within his body. His wife stood over his body, her mouth opening and closing in shock.

The moon once more escaped its cloudy prison, sending thick beams of light down over the wounded body in front of her, steam rising from countless lesions and gaping holes in the thing’s flesh. As she watched this spectacle, Karen Randolph raised her gun once more, tears streaming down her face.

“Karen,” the growling voice from within the steaming body muttered clearly, looking into her eyes.

“Shhh, Ben. Everything is going to be just fine,” she said as she squeezed the trigger slowly.

Jones watched as Karen Randolph discharged her weapon, Josiah Ramey’s head exploding with the blast, sending hot blood and shards of bone cascading down over Ben Randolph’s head before he passed out on the ground and knew no more that night. Lightning split the sky once more as the darkness streaked Jones’s vision. Steam rose heavily from Ben Randolph’s body as the bloody fur seemed to melt away before Jones’s eyes. He felt his life slipping away as he watched the beast before him melt away, leaving the bruised and battered form of the man whose wife he’d come here to save. The wife who now stood over her husband, a grin on her face. As Jones’s life left his body, he met Karen Randolph’s eyes, seeing a shocking red-gold glint in them for just a moment before darkness fell over his world for good.

 

There we go, everyone. I know this was a pretty lengthy piece, but I hope you all enjoyed it. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this story, and anything else you’re interested in. If you want to keep up with my work, check out more samples, or just see what else I’m up to, feel free to follow here or subscribe to my newsletter. I would also love it if you’d like my author page on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/DMathewsBooks/) or follow me on Twitter (@DameanMathews) and keep the reading and writing going! Feel free to comment or message me at any time, and enjoy the rest of the Summer-Blog-A-Day event here (http://kaymacleodbooks.com/summer-blog-a-day-2018/).

Summer Writing Extravaganza!

Hey there, friends and fans! I hope your July went great and you’re all ready for August. In about two months we’ll all be knee deep in leaves and smothered in hoodies, chugging more pumpkin lattes than you can wag a finger at. But for now, Summer is still king. As the hottest days of the year come to a head, I’ve got some great projects under way, and I’m very excited to tell you about them! Let’s start things off by going straight for the event of the the summer – Summer Blog-a-Day!

What’s Summer Blog-a-Day, you ask? It’s an awesome opportunity developed by fellow author Kay Macleod, which allows authors and bloggers from all walks of life a chance to expand their audiences in a number of new ways. Kay has arranged for a new blogger to be featured every day in the month of August, giving that blogger a chance to show off an original story, a short excerpt of a longer original work, or a recommended summer reading list on their assigned day. Every day a link will be shared to the author’s post, prompting unique views, starting today with fantasy author Chrys Cymri. Frankly, I think this is a great idea. This way authors can find a new way to connect with other authors while sharing work and inspiration, and their audiences can immerse themselves in new works. Basically, it’s a win-win!! If you want to check out the schedule and find all new authors to enjoy, here’s the link for the event; (http://kaymacleodbooks.com/summer-blog-a-day-2018/). My day on Kay’s schedule is August 8th, so be sure to keep your eyes open for a brand new post coming up that day, featuring an exclusive new bit of work by yours truly. Also be sure to visit the site and give these great authors your support – and share the event with everyone you think will be interested!

On another note: I have had a bit of excitement in the last week. My wife discovered there was a kitten living in a bush at her work and, after days of trying, managed to capture her. The long haired, ginger feline has since become the newest member of our little family, and is loving her new life indoors. It has been quite an experience raising a kitten again, and I must say she is a fun little friend. It’s both tiring and inspirational to have a new little life running around the house. Possibly due to said inspiration, I’ve been able to nail down what my next story is going to be, and get a start on it in the last week. Little Mary Jane, M.J. for short (complete Spiderman reference – no shame at all for my nerdiness) is definitely a hoot and you will all be seeing plenty of her on social media, without a doubt.

In addition to the rest of my news, I have actually been able to line up quite a doozy of a review for the near future. I’m going to be taking a peek at an advance copy of a book by one of my favorite authors and a friend of mine. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, but the book is a prequel to a classic novel that is like no other. I look very forward to getting to share this with you all. I haven’t set a date for the review yet, but I will be keeping you all updated as things progress.

Finally, the last bit of news that I have before I stop boring you all with my words, is that I have completed one of the final steps remaining before I can attempt to get my provisional teaching license and begin inspiring others the way my favorite professors have inspired me. Of course, I’ll continue to keep everyone updated on this progression as well. In the meantime, I’ll be working on my new novel, playing with my new cat, and planning for the special bit of work coming your way in a week. Keep yourselves happy and inspired, make the most of the summer, and don’t let anything slow you down! Feel free to reach out to me with any questions or comments you have, and I’ll be back soon with something exciting for you all to enjoy!