Quill & Claw/Pen & Paw

My heart began to pound in chest and I felt a pain in the front of my throat. I had to see my aunt. I knew there was little I could do at this point to protect mysel from the stranger--other than give him a very wide berth. So I fled to the stairs beyond him. Leaving him behind. As I passed him, and I cannot ever forget this, he did not move, but I caught his personal aroma. He smelled of sweat, that was evident, but my brain, in that gleemin moment, caught a sweeter smell. I would later use the word 'flowers, but I realized that wasn't the case. I only grasped 'flowers' becuase of his look of a greensman. I guess I could say 'honey' or 'sugar' and have the same idea. I glanced over my shoulder but all I remember was the sunlight hitting his sweat and shining at me as I took the stairs two by two. I was panting before I started the dash. At the top of the stairs, I saw that my aunt's bedroom door was open slightly....

Love is a many splendored thing. Love brings us up where we belong. I'll be loving you...always. All clichés, I'm fully aware of that. But the facts of the matter all are correct. See love is a very complicated topic. Very. For every artist I've seen capture a glimpse of this elusive emotion, great many fail. I'm stuck thinking of Whoopi Goldberg as Gianaan on Star Trek: TNG. After ensign Crusher lost his first love, he informed her that he'll love again. He insisted he'll never feel that way again. She says he will, for, "every time you feel love, it will be different." So this emotion, this thing that everyone feels at some point in their loves--sometimes multiple times with multiple forms--is as imperative to our lives on earth as breathing or eating. And as complex as quantum physics. But why is it so difficult to capture in poetry, lyric or film? Because, like Whoopi said, “every time you feel love, it will be different." I might love this ...

Not only has summer arrived---I've been on a writing kick, if you've not noticed. I treated myself to the "On Writing Horror" text from Writer's Digest and getting back into the swing of things that go bump in the night. So it comes to be that I wanted to see this horror flick, to kinda rekindle a zombie story I had worked on two years ago for my partner. I suppose I could should have picked up Brooks' "World War Z" instead. I really wanted this movie to be good, I really did. A recent conversation with my better half renewed in my mind something of an alarming trend in summer fare--bigger special effects and lesser storylines. It seems that Hollywood keeps thinking that if they dazzle us with the lighting, we won't see that we really don't give a crap about what's happening. Which is interesting. Callium Murphy (yeah, I spelled it wrong, you have an issue with that?) powered us into the first part of this tale, way back in Danny Boyle...

Dear all, I'm unsure what this is borne from--but here is the beginning of a tale I've been working on for the last two days. It is unedited. Feedback, as always, is welcome. I suppose I remember the moment like some people remember where they were when Kennedy died or the second plane hit the World Trade Center. See? Your brain immediately clicked into that moment as I mentioned them. For me, it was no different that sweltering day. I knew something was amiss as I drove home to change my clothes from work. You see, I had elected to use the alleyway to arrive at my Aunt Gracie’s house instead of the front as I had been doing for several months now. When she had moved into her home before my arrival into this world, it was on the edge of town, quite solitary. She could build her gardens and run her dogs without another neighbor in sight. The city caught up with her. Down the street a Home Depot and a Walmart had taken up residence and the once quite locat...