I don’t post much on Facebook and I rarely blog (as I am doing here), because it seems common. I write stories to “represent” me and the best I can do. I rewrite, edit, polish, exercise difficult removal, and finally, publish my delicate (and hopefully beautiful) product.

My 4th novel, a serial killer mystery titled THE SCULPTOR came out through Night Shade / Skyhorse March 29, 2022, and my lifetime collection titled DANCING WITH TOMBSTONES went live last October through Cemetery Dance Publications. Kevin Lucia is my contact at CD, and there is positively no other editor I have worked with in the business of small market horror publishing, who works harder for his authors.

My newest work, another serial killer piece titled THE WINSLOW SISTERS, is by far my best creation, as the character orientation is so bold, at least for me. The main players are all female, and though they take the reader to hell and back, my inspiration was LITTLE WOMEN, by Louisa May Alcott. That has got to be a plus, as the aforementioned text is of the best American novels.

I started a new work on 5/16/2022, and it is not a horror piece. Part of this relates to past sales, I am afraid, since not many people, namely agents, believe in horror. I grew up on Stephen King, so I do not quite understand the average reader’s distaste toward the horror genre. Still, please ask your neighborhood horror writer, and he or she will tell you that selling horror is a difficult stretch.

Thing is…I naturally gravitate toward the horrific, and writing a “normal story” feels like I am faking. The piece I am currently working on is untitled, and concerns an English Professor who is given the task of teaching in one class, the whole roster of the women’s softball team at The University of Delaware. Since I work there as an English Prof., it almost feels like I am “cheating” when it comes to content. At the same time, each time I sit down to add a section, I feel out of my element, fearful of failure. I think to myself, “This can’t be done…no one will care…it’s too big…it’s too damned “real” to play out as fiction.

Then I start writing again.