Update on the Writing Front


So, … this happened the end of last week at our annual state writing conference. Five wins as follows:

1st – Horror Novel

1st – Short Rhymed Poetry (see below to read)

2nd – Horror Short Story

3rd – Sci-fi/Fantasy Short Story (Jack won 1st in this category with the brilliant Xincheng)

3rd – How-to Article

And it wouldn’t have been possible without these amazing people from my critique group Nevermore Edits:


This isn’t everyone in the group. Just the ones who went to conference together (plus my nephew). Left to right: Phil Fry (my nephew), Shannon Iwanski, Mac Boyle, CJ Miles IV, Samantha Free, Jack Burgos, Adrean Messmer, and me. I am so lucky to have these ferociously talented writers as my friends and critique partners. Adrean, Jack, Mac, and Shannon all won awards as well. Way to go guys!! Well deserved all!!

My winning poem


Close the door, take a breath

“Ten – nine – eight”

Sink to the floor

And wait.


Close the door, tell a friend

“Seven – six – five”

Sleep on the words

And cry.


Close the door, tame your heart

“Four – three”

Suck up your pride

And leave.


Open the door, take a peek

“Two – one”

See that he’s gone

And … done.




Would it be enough?

If I could love you

as ferociously

as my heart beats

every time I dream

of you,

would it be enough?

If I could love you

as eternally

as the lump in my throat

every time I think

of you,

would it be enough?

If I could love you

as gently

as the tears slip down my cheek

every time I miss you,

would it be enough?

If I could wrap your fingers

in mine

and pull you so close

our warmth

could form a new star,

would it be enough?

If i could hold you

long enough

to explain everything,

everything that has confused

or frustrated

or baffled


would it be enough?

If I could be everything

you want

and everything

you need,

would I ever

be enough?

A soul doesn’t linger

for fun or games,

to tease or taunt,

in apathy or hate.

A soul lingers in love,


will it ever be enough?



of feathers











to fly

a strip

of wood

no matter

how well molded

and shaped

can not

fly straight

and true



to help






a president


an organization







a friend is a friend



communication’s essence

but my yellow daffodil

is not always the same one

you see

no matter

what I said

add in emotions

like love or fear

and suddenly my daffodil

is no longer a daffodil

but a tulip

or carnation

to please your heart

and calm your nerves

and the more I explain

the yellow petals

and orange stamen

and straight hollow green stem

you can only see

a flower

I can’t put love

in your brain

any more than you can save

my doomed relationships

or give me peace

in the midst of grief

but I can help you find


and you can help me find


just by asking questions


and giving answers

without fear

that I won’t understand

who you are

and want

what’s best for you

despite what I know

is best for me

and that’s all

I ask

in return


Splinters in the Brain

Tears and dead flower petals

fall to the floor

in equal measure these days.

I just want “this” to end,

to go away,

to stop being so … all consuming.

I don’t care that I ever cared

for you and

I fail to understand how

you still think I do

enough to play games

and create multiple twitter accounts

with weird names

posting offbeat “poetry”

lamenting love gone wrong

and tell me, yet again,

how it’s over and done.

Your days of writing intensively

playing online

promoting yourself

and the world you created

is but a blur to me.

For my world is filled

with ever repeating conversations

about things that happened

in a totally different way

and finding things lost

and taking care of the person

who should be taking care of me

and friends who wait patiently

for me to return

to whoever I was before

grief smothered my world.

But I will never be that person again

and I fear … yes I fear …

I will lose even them

in the darkness.

I can not see


or the skeleton hand

resting in mine

Ridges outline my pain

in the sand

on the beach

where my dad will walk

for all eternity

picking up shells

chasing tiny fish

watching the sunrise

orange and fiery setting the world


and I wish, I wish

I could go with him

because without him

my world is splintered

into fragments piercing

my skull with so many holes

I feel like a sieve.

I will never be whole again

or able to contain

anything akin to love

or memories

or … life …




I want it to end

to bend

to wrap around my wounded heart

and then begin

to show me

how to take a breath

in the midst of death

I want it to end