Writing Quotes helps you to be good to yourself

The first quote I thought was written by somebody else, but Walter "Red" Smith apparently was the first person to have it directly attributed to him-

"There's nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."

- Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

"You must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you."

- Ray Bradbury

"Better to write for yourself and have no public, than write for the public and have no self."

- Cyril Connolly

"I have made this letter longer, because I have not had the time to make it shorter."

- Blaise Pascal

The above quotes came from The Creative Screenwriting Weekly Newsletter.

"The work never matches the dream of perfection the artist has to start with."

- William Faulkner

Für Elise

5:57 PM

She knew time was running out, fast, but opening that door was Pandora's Box all over again.

5:48 PM

Osvlado has had more than a few drinks, and this is not a new development. He enjoys a cerza (beer) or two with his desayuno (breakfast), a snort of tequila in his cup of coffee on the drive to work, and a generous pour of more tequila before lunch. The problem from two weeks ago, is the same as today's. Osvlado can't seem to stop drinking when he's supposed to be working, and he can't seem to be able to do the balance of his drinking at his own home.

12:30 PM, fifteen days ago

Chester Brock is patient; at least, that's what he believes himself to be. This...this, however, this would be too much even Job. Or even for Jesus. He doesn't mind if the gardeners are not constantly working, but that asshole Osvaldo spends more time sitting on his butt and not-so surreptitiously sipping from his flask, than doing anything that involves his job. Now, Osvaldo is urinating all over Chester's yard...and no, he's not even bothering to do it behind the bushes. In these trying times, no one should be out of work and yet...oh, great, now Mrs. Addison across the street sees this spectacle, too!

Wonderful, on top of everything, Chester is going to get an earful from Mr. Addison when he goes into work tomorrow. No, no, screw this, it's time to call Miguel up and let him know what kind of employee he has. This dickweed can work anywhere he wants, but he definitely won't ever work in Chester A. Barraza's yard again.

5:59 PM

Once the butterfly has emerged, it can't go back into the chrysalis, right? The butterfly can't go back to being that ugly, woolly, crude thing that crawls on the ground, and devours what tasteless foliage it can find. That is, the butterfly gets to sail on the wind and feed from the sweetest nectar. Such is Nora's dilemma.

She is in the front bedroom of Chester's l-shaped ranch-style house. She moved into his house over two years ago, but she still doesn't quite feel at home, so he lets her have the spare bedroom as her own little oasis from him. That crazy drunk that Chester got fired two weeks ago, is threatening Chester and she knows that Chet doesn't see the huge hunting knife that the angry asshole has hidden behind his back.

Nora clutches a simple little jewelry box. It's poorly lacquered and while she knows that it's not balsa, the wood that it is made of doesn't seem that much stronger. If you open it up, it plays "Für Elise," and if you lift the poorly disguised compartment below it? Well, no one wants that, especially Nora.

3:30 PM

Osvaldo was happy with his job and while Miguel wasn't happy with his drinking, he tolerated it as long as Osvaldo showed results. It's been two long weeks since then. Two long weeks where no one will hire Osvaldo, because Miguel has told everyone at all of the local garden nurseries about the whole incident. Yes, two long weeks where Osvaldo's money has dwindled down to nothing, and he has had to choose between drinking and eating.

At night, he has walked by Chester's house and seen this pinche cabrón living well, while Osvaldo starves. For reasons that baffle Osvlado, Chester's beautiful girlfriend actually wants a man whose hands are softer than hers. Osvaldo has twice the Spanish blood as this Indio, yet works harder everyday, than this puto has ever had to in his entire life. So, Osvaldo has called on Arturo, who always seems to have a bottle of liquor, a spare knife or two lying around...and the same itch to stir things up.

6:00 PM

Nora clutches the jewelry box as if it was a long lost relative, and in a way, it is. Osvaldo is shouting at Chester and Chet shouts back in the few words of Spanish that he knows. She knows that Chester still hasn't registered the hunting knife that is waiting for him, and that he also hasn't seen that a man has just stepped on the porch. It looks like Osvaldo is trying to lure him out and then, the other man will attack Chester from the side or from behind.

Nora opens the box, then the compartment. Inside there is a piece of red cloth with white and black spots, wrapped around something silvery. She takes the cloth out and wastes precious time touching in it to her forehead, because everyone has their own rituals.

6:01 PM

Chester steps off the porch. His first instinct is to just go back into the house and call 911, but this isn't high school anymore, and he will not be bullied. The two months of judo that he had taken almost six years ago, has given him an undeserved sense of bravado. If the adrenaline and testosterone had not clouded his sense of reason, then maybe he could remember that he couldn't even wrestle the TV remote from Nora two nights ago.

Arturo is about to let Chester's kidneys taste the steel of his switchblade, when he feels something cold poke the back of his neck. He hears the distinct sound of a slide going back and a bullet being chambered. That sound is the universal language of "don't move a fucking muscle, behave!" A woman whispers in Arturo's ear and he drops his knife, which clatters on the porch. This grabs the attention of both Osvaldo and Chester.

That woman is Nora and the red cloth is a bandanna that is tied tight around her forehead. It is pulled tight like a headband, just above her eyes, in the old Pachuco-style and Arturo seems to fear what she is whispering more than the gun that is jabbing him. He runs past Chester and grabs Osvaldo, who is about to take a run at Chester with his knife. Chester hears Arturo screech in Spanish the letter "m," and his both of his would-be assailants flee as if Nora is three jaguars.

Chester turns around and even he's not so sure that the nice girl he knew hasn't become some kind of creature. She has a fierceness in her that he's never seen in her, much less any human being. She's angry and she doesn't even see him, her focus is completely on the retreating duo. Suddenly the things that Chester took for granted or really didn't bother with follow-up questions, have taken on a meaning.

It always struck him strange that she has saved absolutely no pictures of herself, from ages thirteen up until she turned twenty-one. And the scars on her hands that she claimed were just burns from a cooking accident? Chester now knows that those must have been gang tattoos that she had removed. She puts the gun's safety on and she goes into the house. Chester hesitates several moments, before he follows her in.

Nora didn't want this, she wanted safety and boredom. She wanted to leave her old life behind and to find a nice guy to settle down with, where she could just stay in the background and relax. She wanted to go back to school and now? Now that's gone, and this isn't the first time.

Nothing can be as it was, and now she can't blend in, as she has become the alpha of the house by default. Even if Chester won't initially be scared like the others, how can she stopping being her old self now? Nora beckons Chester to follow her into the kitchen.

She sits down at the little breakfast nook and puts her feet across the table, as she slides into a comfortable, but tough stance. She pulls the bandanna down until he can barely see the whites of her eyes and Chester leaves the kitchen. He comes back with the music box and he opens it, Beethoven's familiar song begins.

Chester pulls the bandanna off of her forehead and kisses it, and then he kisses her on the lips. Chester remembers that in the myth of Pandora's Box, the one thing that remained in the box was hope.

The End

Note- this is part of Friday Flash Fiction #39, and Randal came up with the starter sentence, "She knew time was running out, fast, but opening that door was Pandora's Box all over again." The "Nora" in this story is nobody that you know, but my variation of Pandora.

Happy 90th, Ray

Happy Ninetieth Birthday, Ray Bradbury!



While I must admit that other than "The Illustrated Man" (which I finally read in its entirety, two summers ago), I haven't read a lot of your work. You are certainly both a brilliant and prolific author, and hopefully you will live well beyond the century mark. You are also not only a great author, but a prophet as well. We don't always agree, but hey.

And as long as we agree to disagree, you were mostly right...

...except, who needs 451 degrees? When we have the idiot box, which can bake a book reader's mind from within (including mine).

Noir and San Francisco

The Rap Sheet asked author Kelli Stanley to name her Top Ten Movies set in San Francisco. She came up with an amazing list and I agree with most of it, though my favorite is-



Not what would you expect for such die-hard Hammett fan, right? You would've guessed I would have chosen "The Thin Man" or "The Maltese Falcon." Well, neither has as many exterior shots of my favorite city in the world, as "Dark Passage."

And neither film had Lauren. Both "Dark" and "Falcon" had Bogart, though "Maltese" had the better Bogie performance. I am not, nor will I ever be a Mary Astor Fan, and as great as John Huston was, I prefer shot-for-shot, Delmer Daves direction. Before you get angry, I said I "prefer," as in it's a personal preference. Put the lead bird down.

The Rap Sheet also has a Top Ten Books Set In San Francisco List by Janet Rudolph, and J. Kingston finishes it up with the Top Ten TV Series.

Issue #2 of Needle Magazine is here!

Yeah, Sterling?

Stay on the line, I might need you to swing by here and set some people straight.

Well, you see, I've got some folks that don't know when they've got a good thing going. They don't realize that Steve Weddle and crew have done it again, with another outstanding issue of Needle Magazine!

For just seven bucks, they will get a line up of: Ray Banks, Nolan Knight, John Stickney, Frank Bill, Julie Summerell, Nigel Bird, Sarah Weinman, Allan Leverone, the novella "The Hitter" by Chris F. Holm, David Cranmer with "The Sins of Maynard Shipley," Stephen Blackmoore, and Mike Sheeter! Why, you can't even get an E-book with that kind of roster for an Abe Lincoln and two George Washingtons!

They could order it here or...

...maybe you could make them see things my way, if you get my meaning. Oh, and while you're at it? I wouldn't go out to dinner with that Michael Corleone kid. What's that? Uh, just call it a "hunch," on my part.

Was that correct, back then?

So I was reading Paul Cain's "Murder In Blue," which is the second story in "Los Angeles Noir: The Classics," when I saw this-

"Mr. Winfield reached up into the pockets of the dressing-gown, fished out a cigarette, matches. He lighted the cigarette, leaned back in the water, sighed."

Did you see that? In case you missed what I'm talking about, it popped up a few pages later with-

"They were silent for awhile and then Halloran lighted a cigarette and stood up."

If you still don't see it...

"The girl lighted a cigarette, sipped her coffee."

No, I'm not talking about all the smoking, that was par for the course back then. The "lighted" part instead of "lit." Mind you, "lighted" wasn't just for the cigarettes-

"The room was large, bare: somewhere around thirty-five by four. It was lighted by a single green-shaded droplight over a very large table in the center: there were other tables and chairs stacked in the dusk of the corner."

All right, I understand that back in 1933, it was acceptable to write "okay" as "okey" or "oke." I've also seen "girlfriend" written as "girl friend" or as "girl-friend" in more than a few stories from the first half of the 20th Century, but when was it ever okay to substitute "lighted" for "lit?"

Now, I know that you see this error.

Oh, and yes, "lighted" is a word.

Can't get enough of Lots of Pulp

Brian Solomon delves deep into history to bring you the original pulp art from Pulp's Golden age, at Lots of Pulp. Please, do me a huge favor and drop by his blog to praise him for his efforts.




Say what you will about Heather Graham's acting abilities, but you can't question her bravery. I mean, who else will swim in deep cold waters buck-naked, and slap sharks at the same time? Not you, Bucky.

Now you can see why I hate my job. This is what I had to go through just to get a vacation form, and even H.P. Lovecraft couldn't have conceived of what lurks near the fax machine.

Not that our vacation was that much better. People claim that Times Square is too safe now...The Missus and I, beg to differ.

Methinks they have the title juxtaposed. The "all new sock stories" on the cover just confirms it.

Trust me that when Kirk Douglas says he's "Spartacus," you damn well better call him "Spartacus."

Actually, Marlon Brando was no better, after he had a few too many.

Just between you and me, let's just say that some unusual steps were taken this time to rehabilitate Lindsay Lohan while she was in jail.

Don't let anyone kid you, it's tough being a writer.

Issac Bashevis Singer kicks off Writing Quotes

These quotes came from The Creative Screenwriting Weekly Newsletter...

"Originality is not seen in single words or even in sentences. Originality is the sum total of a man's thinking or his writing. "

- Isaac Bashevis Singer

"Writing is a question of finding a certain rhythm. I compare it to the rhythms of jazz. Much of the time life is a sort of rhythmic progression of three characters. If one tells oneself that life is like that, one feels it less arbitrary."

- Francoise Sagan

"The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought, this in turn makes us think more deeply about life, which helps us regain our equilibrium."

- Norbet Platt

"Writing, I think, is not apart from living. Writing is a kind of double living. The writer experiences everything twice. Once in reality and once in that mirror which waits always before or behind."

- Catherine Drinker Bowen

And let's finish this up with one from Mark Twain...

You need not expect to get your book right the first time. Go to work and revamp or rewrite it. God only exhibits his thunder and lightning at intervals, and so they always command attention. These are God's adjectives. You thunder and lightning too much; the reader ceases to get under the bed, by and by.

La Poesia Pura

Coraline knows poetry.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree and goodbye Thug Lit

On the brightside, the son of author Pamila Payne, Sigmund Werndorf has made it into Thug Lit with "Prisoner's Dilemma." Click it and you will find that he possess the same amazing gift for storytelling as his mother.

Also in this issue is Mike Wilkerson's finest effort to date, "Five Kilos." It's a gritty and raw tale. You know, the kind that your mom used to make...if your mom is James Cain or Gil Brewer.

On the darker side, Thug Lit is in limbo and seems as if it will be gone for good.

R.I.P. Thug Lit, one of the best crime magazines ever and the one that certainly featured the greatest writers of our time.

Rumi kicks off Writing Quotes

"The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you; Don't go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want; Don't go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don't go back to sleep."

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there."

"Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray."

“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.”

“Observe the wonders as they occur around you. Don't claim them. Feel the artistry moving through and be silent.”

- Rumi

And because she pointed the way to these quotes, one from...

"To write is to breathe."

- Beth Mende Conny

This quote came from The Creative Screenwriting Weekly Newsletter...

"Many books require no thought from those who read them, and for a very simple reason; they made no such demand upon those who wrote them."

- Charles Caleb Colton

The "Uncovered" Clarity of Night Contest

Two of my close friends have made it into the Top 40 of The "Uncovered" Clarity of Night Contest (huzzah!), Katherine Tomlinson and John Donald Carlucci. Please, take a look at their stories, as well as the other fine entries in the competition.

"I Write Like: Redux"

You might remember I went to this site and they said that my writing was like Robert Louis Stevenson.

Well over at the NY Times Paper Cuts Blog-

I entered my last blog post and was told I write like Edgar Allan Poe. (Judging from the Twitter traffic, so do a lot of other people.)

Pretty neat. But then a colleague plugged in a paragraph from Poe’s “Fall of the House of Usher” and was told it sounded like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Hmm, furiouser (sic) and furiouser (sic).

Get Plugged In #9

Oh, I've got some great ones today...



Paulie Decibels has the fourth installment of Warsaw Moon up at Disenthralled Magazine.

Richard Godwin talks to Hilary Davidson and comes up with one of the most fascinating interviews of the year. Vegetarians, the darker side of the mind, and murder...oh, my.

Soon, we all will have the opportunity to vote for the finalists in the next The Clarity of Night Contest, but in the meantime? Check out the best entries of the past, with the E-Book "The Clarity of Night Contests Volume 1: 2006-2010" which includes Sandra Seaman's "Civic Duty."

Jason Duke debuts on Crimewav.com with "Phoenix Nightlife."

Last but certainly not least, Beat To A Pulp Magazine has scored a major coup! A certain artist will illustrate the anthology "Beat To A Pulp: Round One." Who? You have to click the purple to find out.

"La Espina"

“In the distance I saw all kinds of birds circling over something, but I couldn't tell what from where I was.”

Agustí lets out a long sigh. Julio and he have been lifelong friends, but Tomás has insisted that a confession be wrung of Julio, and no one says “no” to Tomás. To those that have dared, death was as welcome as a cup of water after crossing the Tabernas in the middle of summer. As they say here in Sevilla, “God forgives…Torquemada doesn’t.”

“Please, Julio, don’t prolong this any longer. If you will just admit to dabbling in witchcraft, I can hopefully convince the Inquisitor General to show some mercy.”

“Listen to my story, Agustí, and then I will gladly sign anything. I will admit to being a warlock, I will admit to being a Jew, I will admit to being anything that your friend Tomás desires, but I will have my say first.”

Agustí’s two assistants are visibly disappointed. They know that they will eventually have their fun making this infidel see God by giving him a taste of Hades, but what artisan wants to wait, when he takes such pleasures from his endeavor? Maybe one day soon, even Agustí will be under their auspices. Oh, to hear the over-demanding, never satisfied voice of authority begging for mercy.

One of the assistants looks about the small dungeon walls as to determine which combination of instruments will create a unique symphony, as the other stirs the fire under the coals, making some of the strange-looking implements in the brazier glow a bright orange. The first assistant walks over to the far wall and sits down because inhaling the smoke has made him a little dizzy. There always seems to be a slight breeze of relatively fresher air wafting around in this corner.

Agustí reluctantly nods and Julio clears his throat. “It was weird, this thing that the birds circled…I still cannot accurately describe it now. I can tell you, though, that it was almost near the end of its life.”

“Was it man or beast, Julio?”

“Yes...and no. I mean to say that it was both.”

“This is no time for jokes or chicanery. Remember that we were friends once and that is the only reason that you will not suffer the same fate as those that have dared to mock me before.”

“Agustí, in all of the years that we have lived side-by-side, gone to the same schools, worked at my father’s shop, have you ever known me to tell a falsehood?”

“No, but certainly you could tell what kind of creature it was…or is this another wild tale that was brought over from the so-called “New World” by charlatan Cristoforo Colombo?”

“I am unfamiliar with the recent adventures of that explorer, as this incident happened some eleven years ago.”

Julio’s posture and stature grow, as if the chains are no longer suspending him, but he instead is using them to hold the very walls together. He looks down at Agustí and his voice finds strength as he says, “You remember that day, don’t you, Agustí? The day that you were careless in my father’s shop and you accidentally cut yourself? It seemed that no bandage or poultice could staunch the flow of blood that was escaping from you.”

One of Agustí’s assistants smiles with glee, until his superior quashes it with a baleful glare.

“You recall that don’t you, Agustí? I rode as fast as I could from here to Gelves, to find that apothecary that blended the very herbal cataplasm that saved your life? Well, your mortality was not the only one that I had rescued that day.”

“So, are you saying that this creature was a demon?” scoffs the sitting assistant.

“I am saying that this creature spoke our language just as well, if not better than you,” Julio snaps back. “And though most of him did not seem to be human, he has apparently more heart than your overseer here. Yet here we have this so-called “man” that stands before us. Agustí, you who had no family that would take care of you, no roof over your head, no food in your belly, you would let them bring me here. You would subject me to this, knowing that I have lived a just life and unlike yours, a life without sin!”

“Silence!”

“No, Agustí, I will not be silent. You call yourself a Christian, yet you have never lived your life like Jesus. You have never truly served your fellow man. I could list the acts of kindness that you’ve done in your lifetime on one fing—”

Agustí slaps Julio once to silence him, and then he backhands him for good measure.

“Give me the parchment; I can sign his name better than he can himself,” Agustí barks at his standing assistant. The aide lays it out on the table and produces an inkwell and quill.

Julio clenches his lips and slowly regains his posture of strength.

“Agustí? Do you remember the fables that my father would tell you from time to time?”

The Inquisitor Minor does not reply, as he chooses instead to concentrate on forging Julio’s signature accurately, yet with a flourish that is too cheery, considering the circumstances.

“Agustí, in particular, remember Aesop. Remember that tale of The Slave and The Lion? How The Slave came upon The Lion as the great cat was in pain from the thorn in its paw? He removed the thorn from The Lion and they became friends. Well, it wasn’t a thorn I removed, but I saved the life of a good friend. He is a remarkable friend that promised me he would never forget his debt.”

As he admires his penmanship, Agustí grumbles, “No doubt this friend is even more foolish than you.

The sitting assistant shifts, as somehow the draft of air has increased and the wall seems to be nudging him in the back.

“No, Agustí. He is more human than you, because he understands the concept of redemption…”

A quick yelp is followed by snap like a hundred twigs being stepped on at once. Agustí slowly turns around to witness his other assistant succumbing to the same fate as the first, being torn in two like a tree split by lightning. He wants to scream, but his voice has taken flight, along with his sense of reason and sanity. This horrific creature lumbers towards Agustí as blood drips from its fangs.

Julio says with a smile, “Unlike you, he also knows that a true friend always repays his debts.”

The End

For Friday Flash Fiction #36, Welles Fan is a particpant that came up with one of the three starter sentences that we could from. His was, "In the distance I saw all kinds of birds circling over something, but I couldn't tell what from where I was."

Just call me "Bobby Lou"

I saw this at Eric Beetner's blog first, and then at The Rap Sheet-

It's a program called "I Write Like."

So I plugged in "Tit-For-Tat" and I got:

I write like
Robert Louis Stevenson

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

What, RLS? Don't give me that look like you are about to go Mr. Hyde on me, I don't see it either.

I am over the moon...

Becky says that this guy is faking it...



You know what? This woman is too...

...because I am July's Firecrotch!

Fiiire! Who knew that burning could feel this good?

Writing Quotes for Post #500

Barring a false start here, and a yanked post there, this is Post #500. I couldn't have done it without you, the audience. Well, I mean, I could, but it would be boring all by myself and it would something other than blogging (insert your own joke about going blind -- here). At any rate, I thank those that comment and those that lurk. I also give thanks to those that give me the helpful slap on the back and those...well, I draw inspiration from both.

So, here is to everyone that has every visited this blog. Here is to all of you and for success to bless each and everyone. Sláinte!


These quotes came from The Creative Screenwriting Weekly Newsletter-

"Character gives us qualities, but it is in actions -- what we do -- that we are happy or the reverse...All human happiness and misery take the form of action."

- Aristotle

"In nearly all good fiction, the basic -- all but inescapable -- plot form is this: A central character wants something, goes after it despite opposition (perhaps including his own doubts), and so arrives at a win, lose, or draw."

- John Gardner

"Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt."

- Sylvia Plath

"The story I am writing exists, written in absolutely perfect fashion, some place, in the air. All I must do is find it, and copy it."

- Jules Renard

Frost, Heinlein, Writing Quotes

These quotes came from The Creative Screenwriting Weekly Newsletter.


"Talking is a hydrant in the yard and writing is a faucet upstairs in the house. Opening the first takes the pressure off the second."

- Robert Frost

"Writing is not necessarily something to be ashamed of, but do it in private and wash your hands afterwards."

- Robert Heinlein

"When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can."

- Samuel Lover

Get Plugged In #8

Certainly first and foremost, The Pop Eye Blog turned five. Out of all my friends who blog, Becky is the Atlas when it comes to blogging. She does it harder, longer, faster, Kanye, and she is my only reliable source of pop culture (i.e. she doesn't float half-truths like every other pop or gossip blog does, to draw in readers).

Next, Nora O'Sullivan brings the pain and the blood, courtesy of Chicago Reader.

Richard Godwin interviews-

Needle Magazine Creator/Editor Steve Weddle.

Iraq War Vet/Author Jason Duke.

Author Paul D. Brazill a.k.a. "Paulie Decibels."

As well as a compelling and surreal conversation with Christopher Grant.

Richard writes as well, and he paints a vivid picture at Michael Solender's You're Not From Around Here, Are You...with "The Iconoclast."

Speaking of "vivid," Patti Abbott types out a Renoir-worthy portrait at Beat To A Pulp, with "At The Cafe Sabarsky."

Last but not least, if you somehow missed Paul's interview with Brit Author Alan Griffiths in Pulp Metal Magazine, here it is again, with You Would Say That, Wouldn't You?

The Premiere Issue of Dark Valentine Magazine is here!

So here it is, the day that it all comes fruition. Here is a new venue for dark fiction, a new publication that will change the way that you read magazines.

Agatha-nominated Elizabeth Zelvin kicks things off with "The Silkie." Chad Rohrbacher brings us into a robotic near future with "Furious." Sandra Seamans offers up a surreal piece of noir with "What Doesn't Kill You" and it is accompanied by an equally amazing illustration by Jane Burson.

Paul D. Brazill turns horror on its ear and gives it a Michael Madsen, with "Drunk On The Moon." "Automancer" is a tale that gives a new twist to magic, by my friend author and editor, Katherine Tomlinson. I have a story in there called "His Hands, which is a tribute to the writing style of my friend Quin Browne. I chronicle a doomed relationship that takes unforeseen tragic conclusion.

The aforementioned isn't even half of the stories that are in this issue, and the art work is truly a feast for the eyes. There is horror, fantasy, noir, science fiction and all the dark things that are under the sun...and in the shadows.

Please, check out the Dark Valentine Magazine in PDF form, here.

And here it is, the Cover for The Premiere Issue of Dark Valentine Magazine

The next part of the build up and now everything will be that much clearer, with the illustration for the Cover of Dark Valentine Magazine.

Is it wrong that I fall in love with virtually every cover illustration that Joanne Renaud does? A special thanks to Joy Sillesen for the formatting and Editor Katherine Tomlinson has all the details for this missive at her blog.

Just a taste...

What do Sandra Seamans, Paul D. Brazill, Chad Rohrbacher and me, all have in common?

That's right, none of us are represented by this guy. Wait, what?

All will be revealed soon, but in the meantime? Here is a teaser. If you come back here at 10:30 AM, PST, it will make even more sense.

The biggest Writing Quotes, ever*

The first is from Beth Mende Conny-

"Life is a book and you are its author. You detemine its plot and pace and you--only you--turn its pages."


The next ones are from The Creative Screenwriting Weekly Newsletter-

"Ink and paper are sometimes passionate lovers, oftentimes brother and sister, and occasionally mortal enemies."

- Terri Guillemets

"I learned never to empty the well of my writing, but always to stop when there was still something there in the deep part of the well, and let it refill at night from the springs that fed it."

- Ernest Hemingway

"Writing is no trouble: you just jot down ideas as they occur to you. The jotting is simplicity itself -- it is the occurring which is difficult."

- Stephen Leacock

"A writer is someone who can make a riddle out of an answer."

- Karl Krauss

"Every author in some way portrays himself in his works, even if it be against his will."

- Goethe

"I want to write books that unlock the traffic jam in everybody's head."

- John Updike

*Only because I haven't been posting them.

Ah, yeah...