Isabelle Craten had a reputation of being one seriously nice, albeit odd, lady. That reputation would have taken a serious hit if anyone had stopped by at that particular moment.
“Damn it, Natalie!” she screeched, wading through a sea of cats which split in front of her. “God damn it, girl!”
It was hard for her to believe but the evidence didn’t lie; Natalie Mullen—dependable Natalie—had forgotten to stop by and give the cats their afternoon tuna. There were no two ways to put it, Natalie had not come by. Each of the food bowls was perfectly clean and still smelled of the Nature’s Miracle Isabelle used to clean them. Her cats hadn’t been fed in nearly twelve hours. Her babies were starving.
Isabelle wrenched the lids from the industrial sized cans, pushing her furry babies away from their bowl with a foot. Mewing fi...
One of the annoying things about having family read my works is that they for some reason think that every main character is me. It doesn’t matter if the character is a psychopath, a jock, a nuclear physicist, a boy who melts in the rain, or even a girl. For my relatives, they are all me.
This, of course, is also a question I get asked fairly frequently. How often do you put yourself into your stories? The truth of the matter is, not all that much…anymore.
When I first started writing, way back when my age had transitioned from two hands to two hands and a couple toes, everything I wrote featured me. I wrote in the first person almost exclusively, and I’ll hazard a guess that this isn’t abnormal for those of that age. When I began to seriously peruse writing after high school, I had switched to third person, but most of the characters wer...
Where did the idea come from for Blood Type? Well that’s easy enough to answer; it’s a true story.
Okay…maybe it’s not completely true. That whole part about a man spawning from blood might not have actually happened, but the rest of it, right up until the point of Nick’s sanguine arrival, is perfectly true.
One day, just as I was leaving a routine appointment, my doctor ambushed me with the proposition of getting some lab work done, and being the agreeable lad that I am, I agreed. She then shepherded me right back into the examining room, where I had spent most of the visit waiting for her, and told me to wait for a nurse who would be along shortly.
Fun fact about me, I hate needles. I mean I really hate them. Cut me, punch me, I don’t care, just don’t stick a needle in me. It’s a silly fear, I recognize that, seeing as I don’t care at a...
To the long time viewers of my YouTube channel, close friends, or a certain pair of old people known to some as Granny B and Papa B, this story was hilarious. And for the rest of you, the ones now asking, “How in the name of cookies was this hilarious?!” I must explain it as simply as I can.
Chupie is real.
I kid you not, I tease you not. Chupie, the black guinea pig with a white streak down his nose, prone to much purring and finger licking, escape artist extraordinaire, is very much a real pig. Yes, he really does squeak a lot. Yes, he does lick fingers; and yes, he will answer your questions—so long as the answer is no. In fact, he is sitting in my lap this very second, no doubt making sure that I miss not one of his wonderful characteristics.
Okay, so maybe my Chupie has never slain a serial killer. Maybe he’s never actually bitten som...
Like many of my stories, I’m not entirely sure how this one began. I sat down to write a short story after a long break of writing them, and found that there was nothing waiting in my fingertips to come pouring out. I messed around with a few sentences for a few hours, but nothing felt right. In desperation, I turned to my most trusted tool for curing a temporary block—my antique typewriter.
A Smith-Corona portable from the 40’s, it was the first typewriter I ever purchased (I did have one as a kid, but I’m old enough to where that was actually a useful tool, so that one doesn’t count). It’s a gorgeous machine, but an obsolete one, so it spends most of its time looking pretty on a side table in my office. Writing on a typewriter is just not practical, especially for someone who writes as much as I do. If I was one of those authors that p...