Writing gives you the illusion of control,
and then you realize it’s just an illusion,
that people are going to bring their own stuff into it.
-David Sedaris

The quote remark in the headline is twofold— one, I hope each of you take the time to actually read the quotes I start each blog with. Most of the time, they are direct reflections of what I feel writing is, and wish I could’ve said first myself.

Secondly, a little more obscure, but I’m going to routinely change the quote in the top left corner with snippets here and there from my book. Showcased are lines I feel would intrigue a common passerby on this blog to actually buy the book and check it out when it comes back.

Currently, it is:

"I see her take to the streets, dressed to kill but walking like lead on paper stilts." This is actually the opening line to the story To Hold the Sky, one of the last few I wrote and am especially proud of. It takes a new attempt at rewriting conversation that purposely reflects the terseness and low growls of a street life setting.

It’s been brought to my attention that some people want more variety in the banner selection to help promote me on your websites. Since the feedback and response I got for the cover art was so impressive, I’m sending a charge out to all my readers to design their own banner— and show me a copy of it, so that I can put it here and showcase your work. 

By the way, be sure you click on the pictures below to go to the photographer, Adam Camp’s, Personal Photographer Blog. 

Part III Writing Project:

So let’s recap. We’ve got a musician by the name of Alexandro (or Sam because there hasn’t been an official declaration) and a connection between strangers— not unusual for a band and a fan to have. We’ve got benches on a hill at night with a low glow, and most of all:

We’ve got a lot of questions.

Well, today I’m going to give you some answers: Does anyone reading want to know what is emitting the glow? It is the lamps of a manor beyond the hill.


Who lives here? Do you? Does he? Or is he just performing for a private function that you’ve stumbled upon. Or were you invited? Of course you were. You threw the party.

Or was it thrown for you?

Like most things, answers often lead to more questions. This is the next step we’re taking, readers.

We’ve got a character, some semblance of a plot, and now a transition from one location to another. Now is the time when the feedback the regulars are leaving should be more than thoughts and ideas…

I want a paragraph. If you’ve got an idea, so be it. Put it into words and give it your best shot. Read through the responses others have been giving— you might be surprised with the thought provoking notions that has been passed around.

Seeing how I am the author of this blog, and making the request, I’ll start us off.


It was quiet in the way most things are loud, unnoticeably and everywhere. From my window I saw the light beyond the benches, and in my mind’s eye I traced the steps down the lawn, across the street, and up the hills on which those empty benches sat—

But no more. Because from where I sat, that’s the most I ever saw and the farthest I ever got. Tonight that would change. The house was empty. I wouldn’t be missed.

Or would I? There was so much to do. I wasn’t a kid anymore, I couldn’t just drop everything and chase the stars.

No, tonight would be like every other night. The coffee would warm me, the music would lull me to sleep, and the window would remain clo— why was the window open?

A cool breeze came into the room, and shivering I latched the window shut. The wind had brought in the faint smell of flowers into the room. I paused. It was cold outside.

Main Character

I grabbed my jacket and the night greeted me as my footsteps echoed, the thud of the rubber against the gravel as I crossed the street and made my way up the hill.