Monthly Archives: February 2013

Time to self publish another one!

I have been loving the challenge of writing and submitting to publications but at the same time I felt that something was missing. I’ve had this short story finished for over a year now, tentatively titled “Forgotten Flight”,  and had been searching for a publication to submit it to. I had actually found some places that the story would’ve been what some publications were looking for but something had been holding me back and that something was giving up the creative freedom I wanted to have with it. It finally clicked that I should publish it myself so I could explore all of the ideas I have for it. I have lots of cover/poster layouts that I want to try.


Above is a teaser image I quickly whipped together to try to initiate your interest/intrigue in it. It’s far from perfect but it’ll do until I have an official teaser image. So hopefully  you’ll stay tuned and stay interested until it is complete!


Grandma’s Pickles

Grandma’s Pickles.

Grandma’s Pickles

After finishing “Furnace Oil” I started on yet another story. One where the idea came to me when I was snacking on some delicious dill pickles. Here’s a few lines from my next story “Grandma’s Pickles”:


He was ten years old, playing a game with his cousin Carl around the outside of their grandmother’s cellar; a game long since forgotten. Gary couldn’t remember whose idea it was to venture down into the damp and dark cellar but before he knew it the doors had been opened and Carl was already inside telling him to hurry up. As Gary descended into the cellar the wooden steps groaned as if being awakened too soon. With each step he found the feeling of dread rising.


Gary Tillman stood in the kitchen gazing out the small window over the double sink. He seemed to be looking at nothing in particular but his eyes were transfixed on the cellar doors built into a small hill at the edge of his grandmother’s property. The doors had at one point been a bright green but years of Nova Scotia weather had stripped them down to the almost grey wood. Although the sun was setting fast a few patches of green paint still were evident at random places but they were few and far between.

It wasn’t so much the doors that had Gary so distracted but what was contained behind them.

“Gary dear, what are you looking at?” his grandmother Gladys asked.

He blinked twice and came to, aware that his body had broken out into a sweat.

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