Commitment To Integrity

Well, I just had to write something about the plagiarism Angel has exposed. It is Angel Zapata’s and others words that were stolen, so I feel they should be the spotlights as to the outrage. So I humbly pledge my support with them and leave you with links to their blogs so you can read up what they have found.


Thank you to Angel for the detective work he did on tracking this guy down and starting an avalanche of support the writing community has pledged for each other and the integrity of each of our words.


Please visit their sites and pledge your support!


Angel Zapata
http://arageofangel.blogspot.com/2009/09/ive-been-plagiarizedand-im-not-alone.html


Shock Totem
http://www.eyesoretimes.com/2009/09/grand-theft-boogeyman.html


Aaron Poison
http://aaronpolson.blogspot.com/2009/09/ive-been-violated-and-so-have-many.html


Here are other blogs speaking of the same topic ~


Mercedes M. Yardley
http://abrokenlaptop.wordpress.com/2009/09/30/plagiarism-ticks-us-right-off-obviously/


Erin Cole
http://erincolelive.blogspot.com/2009/09/stealing-babies.html

#Fridayflash ~ Tea Time With Warthog

Beached Whale smiled at me. “Now, Raymond, sit and drink your tea. Soak up the sun while you wait for your grandmother. We all know sun does a body good.”

I placed my paws in my lap and let the red tea lobster.

“Raymond, drink your tea, you know how it makes your grandmother if you don’t. Besides, she pays to keep you out of the…facilities. A grandson should appreciate…” Beached Whale spouted on. I put my paws over my ears. Despite my keen sense of hearing, I couldn’t hear her anymore.

Beached Whale objected and hustled behind me. Her mighty girth and fatty smell won. “Raymond, put your dog gone hands down.” I relented and put my paws over my nose instead. Beached Whale smelled bad.

“Quiet yourself, Myrna. I can hear your blubbering from the house.” Warthog approached, ugly, wrinkly, and grey around the edges.

“Mrs. Whirlse, I’m afraid Raymond isn’t feeling up to tea today. The doctors say that-”

Warthog raised two fingers in the air silencing Beached Whale. She lifted the seat of her black skirt and sat on the edge of her chair. She glanced at me and rolled her eyes. “Raymond, why is your hands over your nose?”

Beached Whale and I exchanged glances. “Raymond, put your hands down and drink your tea.”

Beached whale smiled her fishy grin, so l left my paws where they were. Stupid, smelly Beached Whale.

Warthog sighed and motioned for Beached Whale to put two lumps in her tea. “I’m afraid, Raymond, if you continue to be uncooperative we’ll have to let Dr. Smith give you the electrical treatment again.” Warthog gave me the Evil Grin.

My pulse sped. The electrical treatment was not good. Not good at all. It made me angry. I lifted my upper lip. “Grrrr…grrr….” I said, baring my sharp teeth to let Warthog know I was serious.

“Oh my.” Beached Whale wrapped her arms around herself and stepped back. “Shall I get Kitty?”

I stood up and put my paws on the table. I snapped at Warthog.

“Tell Kitty she is needed immediately in the garden.”
As Beached Whale heaved off, Warthog’s eyes met mine and I sat down. Sneering. Waiting.

“Raymond? You barking off again?” I snapped my head towards the sultry voice and let my tongue loll out.

Kitty’s curvaceous figure sashayed through the garden gate, racing my pulse in ways different from a moment ago.

“Kitty, he’s growling at me again,” said Warthog.

“Aw, Mrs. Whirlse,” Kitty bent to my face giving a good helping of cleavage, “I’m sure Raymond didn’t mean it. Did you, Raymond?”

Kitty’s eyes teased me. I wagged my tail. I nodded my head. I panted. Kitty smiled. I smiled back.

“You wouldn’t want to be punished would you?”

I panted harder, letting drool roll down my chin.

“I don’t think you’ll have anymore problems with growling today, Mrs. Whirlse.”

Kitty stood and patted my head. “Good doggie.”

That’s what she said last night when I made her purr.

“Now, drink your tea or else…” Warthog sat on the edge of her chair looking warty and hoggy.

Beached Whale stepped back and whispered to Kitty, “He’ll need the treatment again.” Kitty ignored her.

I looked at my teacup and lifted it in both paws. I glanced up at Warthog. She bent over the table observing my every move. I raised the cup to my nose, whiffed, and looked at Warthog again. She stared back. Challenging me.

I farted.

“That’s enough!” Warthog slammed down her teacup.

I tipped my head back and poured tea down my throat.

“Good, Raymond,” said Kitty.

I put down the cup. Warthog stood. She raised her nose and assessed me like a doctor would a patient. “You may stay. Tea tomorrow. Same time. If you don’t drink tea you know the consequences. Kitty? Come.”

Kitty followed Warthog out of the garden leaving me with Beached Whale.

“You’re despicable…” she began. I put my paws over my ears and thought about petting Kitty tonight and tea with Warthog tomorrow.



(previously published at The New Absurdist)

The NEXT STEP at FLASHES IN THE DARK

She walks the straight and narrow.



They wait to catch her when she falls.



Read THE NEXT STEP at Flashes In The Dark

#fridayflash ~ Oh Hell, It’s Shail

The lake splayed before him with the illusion of clear blue waters lapping at a clean-cut shoreline, but underneath, hid the dirt and filth of ancient gods and abandoned second chances.

Evil lurked.

And that was why he sat atop the picnic table, his massive legs propped up on the metal BBQ, listening to the sound of his bowie knife as he stroked it across the wet stone. It prepared his mind, his thoughts, his soul - if he should loose the shattered pieces that were left.

The sun faded to a sliver upon the forest, and that glowing coal of pain, the pain that melted his stomach to the sewage it'd become, began its precursor to the hunt that would soon follow the swallowing of the slivered eye into a black sky.

He'd know precisely the moment of evening, for the frogs would not croak, the birds dare not sing, and the wild life would keep to their caves and burrows. Flames of red and hatred of fire would soon be brewing deep into the heart of the Devil's Eye, the pioneer nickname for the heart of the forest. He chanted the rhyme letting it calm his stomach, and sharpen his mind.

Swift night follows

shrink ye lake

for red oft follow

the devil's sake.

Black tarred spears

dripping with blood

spirals with antlers

the devil's flare flood.

Deep in the heart

of green and pines

they eat of the heart and souls true

mind you, you weary, o soul opine

for the Devil's Eye opens amongst you

Sharpen ye swords and knives of steel

And cut off their heads,

And crimson skin do peel

And when morn awakes and opens the sky

Silent it closes, the Devil's Eye

Shail blinked. Night was upon him. He set the wet stone aside and stood. His chest, bare and massive, inflated with furry. The red beings, holding their catches high and frolicking amongst the tree tops, fled to the heart of the forest, where their triumphs of the day would be sacrificed.

(An excerpt of the novel I’ll be writing during nanowrimo)

Creepy Crawly At Flashes In The Dark

Check out my new flash


Creepy Crawly


At Flashes In The Dark Today!


Texas inspired this story. There are more creepy crawlies than one can fathom. Ugly Things. Big Things. So big you can’t stomp because of the mess – you need the flippin’ vacuum cleaner. Slurp.

When it’s hot like it’s been during this drought, the dirt aka lawn cracks open so deep I can stick my hand inside (maybe further – didn’t want to find out). All sorts of things that go bump in the dark hide down there. Thus, a story was born. Some of you may recognize a name in the piece. He happens to be one of my favorite sci fi writers. ;)

I also wanted to put in a plug on John Wiswell’s audio piece called


Possible Origins For Him 1.


I think it’s an amazing piece of writing and John’s vocal skills blow me away.
You can also read it here. I recommend listening to it first.

ps. My blog is misbehaving! The bottom half isn't showing up. So if it shows up for you, go ahead and push stop or pause before you listen to John's Piece.

Flies, Goats, and Flashes Come In Threes

I had a life changing experience this last week. I read Lord Of The Flies. I’m blown away, humbled, amazed…all that jazz. I just can’t believe all that the writer was able to illustrate through a tale of boys being stranded on an island. The slow crumble of humanity without morality. Fear. Good vs Evil. Temptations. Symbology of the conch shell. The imposed social standards of society – when there isn’t a society. He creates these characters I will remember forever. The ironies he brings out…all this in a wonderfully told tale. How can so few words say so much? He has provoked so many thoughts in me; I wonder how life can ever be the same again. Hopefully, this will carry over into my writing. Stories can be so much more than just stories. There is no better education on the writing of story, than the reading of a story. My floppy hat off to Mr. William Golding.

This week I’ve written four fresh stories and received three acceptances:

Lame Goat Press accepted my story, Skin, for their Horror Through The Ages Anthology. Lame Goat Press is relatively new. The editor writes quite a bit himself and is taking a dive into the publishing world. I respect anyone who has the guts to attempt that! I believe they are still accepting submissions. Chief Editor, Chis Jacobsmeyer, is a cool a guy. Check out his site here or email him with questions here.

Less Than Three, an absurdist e-anthology put together by Lynn Alexander and Jeff Calico, accepted my story Mean People Jump Off Cliff. If you are interested in writing absurdist or want to try out for the anthology, you can look up the guidelines here or email Jeff & Lynn here.

Flash shot accepted Bunny Bridge. The BunnyMan Bridge Urban Legend caught my imagination so much I wrote several versions with twists. Flash Shot is extremely short fiction – under a hundred words. Try it out, it’s tougher than you would think!

Thanks for stopping by to read. I appreciate all of your support. ;)

Sister (not so very) Grimm reports Good News!

Pill Hill Press has accepted my submission ‘The Bunny Man’ for their Twisted Tales Anthology. Woohoo! Look for it early 2010.


My sincere thanks to editor Jessy Roberts. This gal is one motivated person in the small house publishing press. She has multiple anthologies scheduled for publication throughout 2010. On a side note, she has a great balance of professionalism and friendliness. Her responses are quick and very personal. I highly suggest checking out Pill Hill Press and submitting your work to them.


Also, I have two stories, Creepy Crawly (Sept. 14) & The Next Step (Sept. 21), coming up in Flashes In The Dark. Thanks to Angel Zapata for introducing me to the quirky flash fiction site (check out his recent interview with editor Lori Titus!) and thank you to Lori Titus for publishing my work. Also, she’s just a down right cool person. Her responses to submissions are very prompt and personal. Support a good website and a good editor by reading and submitting your work to Flashes In The Dark.

Chop That Bean Stalk!

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a group of people who called themselves writers. Most of these writers spent all their life savings on the special instrument destined to bring them much wealth and recognition. It was the golden pen, made by the finest of goldsmiths and blessed by the wizards of magical yin yang, zing zang and stuff...The writers, enabled with the magical golden pen, wrote best sellers and lived happily ever after.


Sound familiar? It seems to me the more I get around and get to know more people, the more I see this If I Only Had A (brain!) golden egg mentality. I started noticing this in myself also. If I just had that special laptop, just had that writing class, just went to that writing seminar, if I had a super nifty golden pen, the right office chair, a better desk, if I didn't have that cactus thorn stuck in my finger, if I could make a New York Times editor friend, if I could sit on the beach and listen to the waves whisper tales and I could sip hot coffee and if my coffee were more caffeinated and it were Starbucks, maybe if there was a Starbucks coffee shop on the beach so instead of coffee I could have a mocha. Yeah. Then – I could most certainly write a bestseller.

Don’t get me wrong. Mochas help the brain work (so do peanut m&ms). Laptops are super handy. Writing classes help inform the creative brain to organize and write better. What I’m saying is that all these tools DO help, but if we aren’t writing and reading (I’m talking novels and short stories – not emails) daily – all this is nothing. If we don’t actually DO anything we aren’t making progress. If we’ve dumped a couple hundred or even a couple thousand bucks into a craft that we aren’t actively pursuing – it’s all money down the drain. You aren’t pursuing your dreams, you are pursuing a dream of a dream.

Yes, Jack might have given up the family cow for the dream of magic and golden eggs and hot harpy chicks (huh?). But darn it, he planted those beans, climbed the beanstalk, out witted Mister Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum and claimed the golden harp for his own!

The point is, before you sell the family cow, make sure you are willing to climb the stalk (write!) and out wit the giant (read).

Hmmm…Starbucks sounds good.