A Peck of Pickled Lies – VIDEO

I’m doing storytelling videos. Check out the first, a story about hot peppers.

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Jonah and the Typewriter: Chapter 1

jonahandthetypewriterI present the first chapter from my novel, for your consideration. For those wondering, it is a young adult fantasy novel set in a fictionalized Oklahoma. I am still seeking an agent, but that process is half the fun, isn’t it? Let me know what you think in the comments.


Home Ahead, Home Behind

It was another sweltering mid-western summer when I came back home to Capra, Oklahoma. Outside the windows of the rumbling Greyhound Bus, undulating golden wheat fields passed by. Dust devils danced across the tops of the wheat without their Pecos Bill’s to rein them in, disappearing into to the wind as quickly as they had come. I sat skimming my favorite Jack London book and sipping a Coke out of a large sweaty Styrofoam cup. Capra was an insignificant town by all normal standards, nestled north of Watonga in Blaine County behind a lot of cows, wheat, gypsum and broken asphalt. To me, it was the center of the universe, the only permanent home I ever had. It was where my Grandmother, Popeye, the antique store, all waited for me. It was where I had left my magic typewriter five years before.

Continue reading

Dreamers of the Day

“All men dream, but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds, wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act on their dreams with open eyes, to make them possible.” – T.E. Lawrence

Those who dream of creating, of dreaming in the day, come up with all sorts of excuses for not acting on the passions that lurk in their hearts. Writer’s block is a common excuse, a common word that most truly describes the terror one feels when faced with negative space, with white pages consisting only of wood pulp and possibilities. So, then, every creator worth their salt will tell you that making something is hard work, that the only thing holding you back is sitting down to the computer and putting words and images and dreams on the page. Continue reading


She leans against the counter, and buffs her nails.

“I guess it would be bad, but I don’t care.”

We speak of Marx and my persuasion fails

to illustrate not just how we would fare

in such a world, should it become our lot,

but that a human being should take a stand.

“I guess like it would be like bad.” Her thoughts

like made my brain like melt. So understand

why I resigned! –Her passive passions burned

with all the flame of Easy Bake. It’s she

who’s doomed us – not the quake of coup de tat,

or wicked plots, or brightly burning trees.


It’s those whose furies run lukewarm

and gladly live their lives chloroformed.

Stop Writing Female Protagonists.

Your strong female protagonist does well for herself. Her life, neatly folded into drawers, doled out to the correct plastic wells of a pill-a-day container. She likes her coffee black (or with cream and sugar, or a latte for that matter, because screw men’s standards), and she has sass (or punches to the face) to spare for anyone who gets in her way or on her nerves. Continue reading

Negative Space

There it is again. I’m sitting down on my old leaf-print couch, long since faded from it’s original golden sheen into a puffy, faded Estevez. My computer is open on my lap, and Dr. Who is blaring from the Television while my girlfriend encircles my arm with hers, and lays her head down on my shoulder.

The page on my browser is open to a blank WordPress post, still waiting to be written. Continue reading