As you can probably tell, I have been neglecting this blog for a few weeks, now. Instead, I have been posting to a new site called “Bubblews.” This is a social networking/writing site where i can get paid for posting posting the same kind of content I have been posting here on this blog.

If you want to see what I have been writing, click here:

EDIT: I do not recommend writing at Bubblews at the current time. Server downtime is atrocious with no remedy coming that I can see. The reputation of the site has dropped ridiculously since I joined with rampant plagiarism, extremely poor customer service, and more and more complaints about non-payment. I have not had any payments lost, but my payments have gone from 3 days to almost 10 days from the time they are claimed.

“Improvements” to the site are scheduled to be implemented in July, but I do not know what those “improvements” will be. If changes are made for the better, I might change my recommendation, but for now I would stay away.

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Posted by on November 20, 2013 in Uncategorized



Haunting Limericks

Photo borrowed from Hartwig HKD

The prompt for this piece was “If I were a ghost, I’d haunt people by…” My first thoughts centered around Spielberg’s Poltergeist, but then took a more poetic turn. I still had a bit of time to write for this prompt, so I added a second one with the same theme.


If I were a ghost in the attic
I’d interfere with television static
I’d moan and I’d shriek
And through the house I’d streak
‘Til everyone fled in a panic


If I were a ghost in a room
I’d drop things and make them go “boom”
I’d pick up the bed
Then drop it like lead
And send the sleepers to their doom

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Posted by on October 30, 2013 in Poetry


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Another Alliteration

Every now and then, I try an exercise in alliteration at my improv writing group. When the prompt started with “the fickle finger of fate,” I knew I had no choice.

The fickle finger of fate forced the fanatics to flail in the forest of flame. They felt fortunate to be free from the frozen wastelands and far from the fields of famine and fighting.

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Posted by on October 23, 2013 in Poetry



Never Imitate

The prompt for this one was a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Insist on yourself; never imitate.” First, it made me think of an episode of Firefly, (“Do you know the writings of a Xiang Yu?”), but then those ideas morphed into a scene for my B-17 pilot.

“Jamesy, you can’t pretend above 10,000 ft.” I put a hand on his shoulder and stared into his eyes. “When the shrapnel starts flying from the triple-A or the Me’s and FW’s are bearing down, your true nature will come out. And every member of the crew will see it, understand?”

Jamesy snapped a formal salute and said, “Yes, cap’n,” a bit too loud. He’d been all spit-n-polish since he’d shown up for duty two days earlier, just like the Army had trained him. He was overcompensating for something and I had to figure out what insecurities lay beneath that perfect military finish before we got our next mission. Before he got himself or any of my men killed.

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Posted by on September 13, 2013 in Fiction


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Photo borrowed from Life Mental Health

For those of you who don’t know (or haven’t figured it out), I have bipolar disorder. I was diagnosed in 1993, but I’ve experienced symptoms since about 1980. I had a terrible time with the mental health profession in the beginning, so I educated myself and became my own best advocate. Now I am trying to be an advocate for others, as well.

Every now and then, a prompt sparks the opportunity to educate others about bipolar disorder. This was one of those times.

The experts call it “hypomania.” Mania is bad. Mania leads to stupidity and poor judgment. Hypomania, however, is a heightened awareness. For an untreated bipolar, it’s a necessity for survival. During depressive phases, things get neglected – the house gets dirty, work performance decreases, grades go down if you’re in school. Hypomania provides just enough energy and activity to catch up. Problems get solved faster because all the parts “click” instantaneously. You need less sleep and have more strength and stamina. Taking notes in a class actually slows you down. You know answers almost before the questions are asked. The natural tendency to see order is heightened and you see things as they are supposed to be, not as they currently are. The only drawback is that you will ultimately crash again. You never really get ahead.

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Posted by on September 2, 2013 in Non-Fiction



The Trap

Photo borrowed from Filter Forge

On recurring story in my improv writing is my assassin named Jason. The basic story thus far is that Jason is given a target who turns out to be his estranged sister. Upon investigation, he discovers his sister is actually targeting him, as well. I don’t remember the prompt for this piece, but it led to a scene where Jason’s sister has set a trap for him.

“Sarah, is that you?”

“Yeah baby brother, it’s me and if you want to get out of my apartment alive, you need to do everything I say. Deviate…and die.”

“What’s going…”

“First – no questions. I talk, you act, got it?”


“Throw the bomb out. That tripwire is a decoy. And in case you’re wondering, the one on the door isn’t.”

Jason took the small package from under the couch. He didn’t want to take any chances, so he threw a grenade through the window, followed by the bomb. There was a sharp “POP” as the case dissolved into a shower of confetti. Next, he stepped through the broken glass and onto the ledge. He quickly moved along the side of the building to the corner. With expert skill, he began setting up his gear to rappel the rest of the way down. His sister’s voice came back to the phone.

“Shame on you baby brother. You shouldn’t have deviated.”

He had just tied himself off and began sliding down the building when the explosion ripped through the apartment. He slid down the rope quickly, and when he was about 10 feet off the ground, his rope snapped and he fell hard to the concrete sidewalk. The police were on the scene before he could even make his way through the alley to his bike. This felt like a set up, but if he could escape, he would have bought himself some time. Now he would be considered dead, at least until Sarah find out there was nobody in the wreckage.

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Posted by on August 19, 2013 in Fiction


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The Prophet’s Burden II

Earlier, I wrote an observation about “truth” in a post entitled “The Prophet’s Burden.” Some time after that, a prompt led me back down that path and I wrote this poem based on the same idea.

I see all He has shown me
Why is the world so blind
I cry out for all to hear
But no one wants to listen
Why am I your messenger?
What good have I done?
The world still turns its back on You
All I’ve done is fail
The task You gave isn’t done
I have no more strength
All that’s left is trust in You
And in Your higher plan
I’ll continue to serve Your will
Until I’ve overcome

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Posted by on August 16, 2013 in Poetry