Nigel couldn’t believe his beard had gotten this long. It was down to his chest, tangled and frizzy. It was black, but almost brown at its feathery edges. He could hear his father yelling at him to trim it, his high, almost husky voice echoing in his head. His father was ex military. He loved the clean shaven look and forced Nigel to follow that hairless motif, even though Nigel hadn’t picked up a weapon until the Drum started.

My nights of “peace” have abruptly become nightmarish and anxious. Last night, knowing one of them was out there, I could barely breathe behind the wall. The entire time, I clutched my gun in my shaking hands. The safety was even off, like I couldn’t have one rational thought separating me from firing blindly through the wall. If I did manage to kill the one outside my hiding spot, many more would hear the shots.

The commander, the one with the spear, sits outside the folded entrance of the tent. The spear leans casually against his right shoulder, and the black-hooked end slightly rubs against the white cloth. His withered face has been repaired from our earlier bout. Strips of white paper cover the right size of his face. He looks comical and plastic. I assume he feels that way.

Rob had memorized the pattern of abandoned cars in the parking lot outside the building. A red van, a blue truck, a few white sedans, silent and sun faded, lay scattered across the velvet sheet of greenery in the basin around the office tower he’d been hiding in. He’d been fixing a boiler in the basement when the Drum began. Most of the building was empty that first night.

There have been countless times in my pre-drum life where I’ve had ambitious plans all worked out. The moment I’ve acted with this strategy, something small and insignificant has thrown me off track. Well, at least this time I’m very legitimate in my hesitation. I’ve become obsessed with the monsters, beasts, or demons that have been hunting us nightly. Last night, since things have been quiet, I decided to try and explore, and at the very least observe the night.

I knew both would live. I knew it. The captain, the mutilated and ugly captain, underestimated me on the airship. He won’t be doing that again. He bled for that mistake, and he’ll bleed again. It must be humiliating for him to still be alive, especially in the eyes of his men. The berserker, she was incredible. I’ve never encountered anyone quite like her, especially one who can match my strength so elegantly.

Hey everyone, just wanted to get on here and share a little update about what I've been doing with my writing. I hope everyone has had a good holiday season. Thank you all for your continued support. These are all the things I'm working on in some capacity or another. Ugh. This is an exhausting journey. My next self-publish project will be something new and different for me.

The rain and thunder stopped abruptly last night. The Drum appeared quickly and deliberately, like it was jealous of the clout the storm was carrying. My chest became a little heavy when just the Drum hammered the shadows. The rain was a nice reprieve. I’ve been worried about my thoughts recently, or my overall state-of-mind. I’ve been thinking far too much about the monsters.

She gawks at the stuck blade. I smash my shoulder into her and knock her backwards. The edge of my shoulder’s armor cuts her somewhere. I can smell the electric blood. She doesn’t move. She’s a living pillar. I hit her again with my left hand, letting the gauntlet connect with her stomach. Some skin is torn from her abdomen. I can see it on my arm.

Recently, I did an interview for the podcast Total Conundrum. I talked about a variety of things with my writing, monsters, and the connections life built between them all. Big thank you to Total Conundrum for hosting me and creating a nice list of insightful questions for me to answer. That always helps me with this sort of thing. …

Last night, I woke up to the most amazing sound. There was rain. The falling water echoed hard enough to block out the Drum. The sound was soothing and extravagant, like my mind was on vacation for a night. It felt so good not to hear the murderous beat, but real, natural thunder. My dog hates thunderstorms. She instantly started to whine.

We're back to Leave the Name in the free kindle book rotation. This is an excellent short story collection. It contains bits and pieces from my other universes, along with some unique narratives like Factory 9, which I will turn into a full length novel at some point. Science fiction, fantasy, horror, it is all here for your enjoyment. …

“Blue,” I yell suddenly over the din. He smiles at me. He’s been sitting on the rail casually with his massive feet, watching the living fireworks. The blood has frosted in wild shapes against his matted fur. Gears roar absently as they try to find guidance. “Engage her, engage her,” I scream. Blue throws down a man’s back he was feeding on.

It was etched, carved, and bled thereby you and my uncle.A lost language scribbledupon your trauma Rosetta Stone.Years after you’d moved offthe street, shack, slumand into this real home,devoid of rats, rags,and abusive fathers. It was on a beam in the basement,behind an old TV box,with dead earwigs in its folds.

Last night, the Drum sounded, but it started later. Usually it happens close to sunset, but it waited until night was an inky slab in all directions. If this becomes a pattern, I'm going to be very upset. The consistency of the Drum allows us to survive and adapt. For the entire melody of this death-song, we've been dealing with a standard beat.

Back to the Greenland Diaries: Days 1 - 100 as my free book promotion for this weekend. Again, this is my big enchilada. The main event when it comes to my self-published books. There are five more books in the series. Short stories as well. I even publish flash fiction from the Greenland Diaries for free on this blog. So yeah, I nurture this story and universe.

He’s surprised by it all, and he’s trying to conceal it. The woman’s still unmoved. I see her more clearly now since the crowds have separated. Her left arm looks covered in a thin metal, like copper. It’s a vile contraption, digging into the pale skin on her naked arm in greedy punctures. She suddenly bends over on the ground, the deck washing blood against her naked knees.

First, it was the beams between dust,highlighting particles dancingin my parent’s basementwith chocolate carpet and an eyebrow window.Where we, old friends and lovers,would swap dreams and desiresuntil you tearfully realized I couldn’t do anythingbut wrestle with my depression. Then, rays of it glittering in jeweled reflectionsduring our honeymoonon an emerald lagoon, with tropic tips, and…

Gerald and I discussed what happened yesterday at Rainbow Foods. People were already beginning to mark their territories and protect food sources. Why did people have to become so greedy? I’d read all those apocalyptic stories and such, and there’d be chapters about how people turn on one another. Cannibalism, fighting, and torture were just a few issues you’d see in those books.

Back at the top of my free book promotion rotation. Next up is my favorite book I've written (sadly not my most popular, that spot is reserved for the Greenland Diaries) the dark fantasy epic Beware the Ills. It is FREE today and tomorrow on the Kindle. Description below: For the last 30 years he has been the sole protector of the legendary Diamond Town.

The spear holder looks my size, almost an exact replica in fact. His face falls narrow, scared, and jagged. His hair blooms upward wildly, in short and thin points. He has a bright red bandana wrapped around his pale forehead. It’s for warmth I imagine. His plated armor gleams a midnight black. It covers his body similarly to the others. It looks worn, diced, and torn.

My father’s hoarding heartis bending bricks in his garagecreasing the foundation, turninghis house downward,closer to the pithe clawed out from. At first, just artifactsbits of his past livesrecovered from dead family.Immortalized in tins, boxes,bins, stacks, and piles in his office,study, backroom, and garages. My mother would whisperthat he’d always be this way…

Gerald and I tried to explore Rainbow Foods at the south end of the neighborhood. We walked down Highway 81 to get there. The plants were so thick on some streets, you could not keep track of where the pavement and leafy floor separated. Occasionally, your feet would fall through the leathery vines and pop onto the asphalt. The missteps were completely unpredictable and irritating.