Showing posts from December, 2015

The Trance

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Stephen King once said writing was, "Self hypnosis." a sentiment I can attest to. When I write---I say "I" because I can't speak for everyone---especially if I have been going about it for a while, I fall into a kind of trance. My mind goes blank, my eyes grow heavy and my hands flit across the keyboard or notebook almost by themselves. I see only the page. I can feel the world and hear the characters I'm writing about. Smell what they smell, see what they see and be how they are. They become the only thing I can perceive for, I hope at least, a few hours.

And, when I wake from it, I feel like refreshed and weightless for a while. It's a feeling that's even harder for me to explain than the trance itself. I just feel...good. No other words for it really.

The only bad part about this phenomenon of mine is that, after the trance is done and I read my work over, I have to chisel out what I need from the story for probably a few hours. But, in…

Be Drunk

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A bit of advice from Baudelaire.


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I wonder why I can't write that Creepypasta related post?

Probably not ...

The Shooter Full Story

Hell all.

(Quick warning: this story was written some time ago and I didn't bother to edit a lot of it. Be careful. As another note the content of this story is very graphic. This is, as you might have guessed, a story about a deranged shooter who will be killing children. If any of the afore mentioned content offends or disturbs you I ask that you do not read this story. Thank you.)

Lloyd Emeric sat on a park bench, waiting.
    He had a half smoked cigarette in his left hand, one of hundreds that lay scattered around his worn red sneakers and heavily faded blue jeans. His other hand was hidden in the pocket of his orange parka, greedily holding a .9mm semi-automatic pistol that would have shone with sweat in the sunlight. But the sun was four hours away and it wasn’t time yet.
    He had been waiting all night long, waiting and smoking. Daydreaming because the real ones wouldn’t come and neither would the time. It felt like it would never be time. Never be ready and he’d be sitt…

An Experience With Ravens

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"Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone?  All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep — while I weep! O God! Can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?"  
A Dream Within a Dream. By Edgar Allan Poe.

Many years ago I read this poem in the small cafe attached to an even smaller Barnes and Noble. Though the place was not the most ideal to be reading poetry, much less the poetry of such a master as Edgar Allan Poe, the piece did strike me at a time when its effects were strong and well received…

Christmas Tree