Writing Update

So for all of my word count buddies I just wanted to let you know that I am averaging about a 1,000 words a day. I am really motivated and loving my story. I hope I can see it through to the end this time. IN other news I saw Wolverine and liked it. Ryan Reynolds was much better than I thought he would be. Go see it if you like the X-men. I am very excited to see Angel’s and Demons and Terminator Salvation and UP. I am going to be broke. I hope all of your summers are starting as well as mine! Happy writing.

Oh the Awesomeness

Star Trek is wonderful. If you don’t like the genre, you will still like it. It has excellent acting, good action, a roaring plot and everything else that makes a superb movie. If you aren’t doing anything this weekend I recommend going and supporting it. I was not overly impressed with Qunito, Loved Nimoy, and the new Kirk is great. I must admit I didn’t think he would be good, but he was. And in a Daniel Craig new James Bond kind of way. He didn’t lose anything that William Shatner has given us he just added to it. Go see it. Probably the best movie of the summer easy. And for all of you House fans, Cameron is Kirk’s Mom! Who knew she was a Trekkie?

Man Crush



Star Trek


Closet Trekkie coming out of the closet! Too many closets in one sentence. I wonder how many closets I can fit in this post? But I digress! Tomorrow I am going to see this movie with all of my other crazed Trek fans, and I hope I am not dissappointed. I think they nailed some of the casting but royally screwed up on Zachary Quinto. I hate him as an actor and only hope that like Daniel Craig for Bond, I am really wrong on this. Who knows another man crush could be in the making. Spock is one of my favorite fictional characters and I shudder to think what Quinto does to him. But I think Bones will be awesome and Kirk tolerable. Either way, mock and deride me all you want! I know you are stoked toostar_trek_mirror_images!


Here is a poem I wrote this morning. Enjoy!

He fell.
First knees, then hands, then face. Requiting earth’s hungry embrace. Thrice wounded, mortally. Thrashing and creaking and groaning. Gory mud clutches helmet, clouding eyes and kissing lips. Fingers claw the red muck. Rending, ripping, shredding, slipping. Panicked and breathless…dread.
His all. His nothing. Love and joy, hate and pain; stolen. Forever cursed to wander alone, to face alone; weeping. Glory, honor, lacking luster. Cheated.
By craven’s bow. By craven’s blow.
Frenzied arrows leaching life.
Snarling and spitting and raging in vain; still bellicose. Strength forsakes him. His armor his protection, now his coffin.
Still and silent. Wide-eyed-sleeping.

A strange rudession

As you can see I am posting like crazy today. My dear friend Jake used to write cool “rudessions” or stories about nothing and everything. This is one that I did the other day at work on my lunch break. It is more a play with words than anything really serious. Enjoy! Or Don’t!

Five minutes.
I slam the phone down, leap out of my chair and sprint out of my office. I run through the hallway and into the foyer slamming into the front doors. The receptionist screams. I jerk the doors open wide and run for the elevators. I jam the down button over and over. Halfway to the stairs I hear the familiar “ding” of the arriving elevator. I spin around and have to dive through closing doors. Empty, thankfully. I hit the second floor button and the doors close slowly, so slowly. I look at my watch.
Four minutes.
I run through open doors fumbling for my keys. Click, click, beep, beep. I claw the door open. Inside I turn the key, shift, and slam the gas. Go. Tires protesting, I roar through the parking garage, round and round and round.
Three minutes.
Faster, must go faster. Traffic is light, but still too heavy. I weave in and out of the rubber & steel obstacle course. And people; innocent people. My heart races and my hands shake. Horns curse me. Screeching tires everywhere. Green, yellow. red.
Two Minutes.
I can see my house now. I lick my lips. A large white van is pulling away. The garage door is open. Too late. Profanity, copious profanity. I stomp on the brakes and jump out of the car. Tears stream down my face. I can’t see. I don’t need to see. Through the door, kitchen, living room. Up the stairs. Into my bedroom. Into my closet.
One minute.
I almost trip on the stairs. I do trip on my son’s train set. I land on my hand wrong. Screaming pain courses through my wrist and arm. I force myself to my feet. And scramble through the garage. My car idles. The van is gone. But I know the neighborhood. There is only one way out. I wipe the tears away with my swollen hand. I pray.

Ahead I see the van, turning left onto the highway. I am only a few hundred feet behind it now. I think about slowing down at the four way stop, but I don’t. I almost hit a mini van full of kids. The white van accelerates ahead. I know there is really only one way to finish this. I just hope my air bag deploys. 20-30-40-60-80-

Drip. Drip. I wipe my wounded forehead with my good hand. Thick shards of glass cover my face and arms. I kick my door open and wiggle around the airbag. With my help the van crashed in a nearby ditch. It is on its side, tires still spinning. I stumble toward it gun in hand. Only six bullets. Please be enough. A man struggles out of the passenger door.
A gun pokes out from around the dead man and fires a burst in my direction. I am too numb to feel anything. I step closer. He is using his friend as a shield.
Two, three.
The back doors explode and two more dazed men exit.
I step over them and look into the darkened space. The last one holds a gun to my daughter’s throat. He looks confident. My wife is crumpled in a bloody heap to his left. My daughter is crying. Daddy, daddy, daddy…

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The Poem

Why make so much of fragmentary blue In here and there a bird, or butterfly, Or flower, or wearing-stone, or open eye, When heaven presents in sheets the solid hue? Since earth is earth, perhaps, not heaven (as yet)— Though some savants make earth include the sky; And blue so far above us comes so high, It only gives our wish for blue a whet. –Robert Frost