I grew up in a world of magic. By the time I was ten I understood nature, talked to the trees, and listened to the wind. When the kingdom of men conquered my town, I was murdered by one of my own—the betrayer of my kind. But I didn't stay dead.
I woke to find myself in a strange new world called Los Angeles. The only keys to the life I remembered were my father’s ring, my unique abilities, and the onslaught of demons that seemed hell-bent on finding me. Now I must find out who I really am, protect my friends, and get back to my beloved hometown of Orenda.
a Santa hat knocked loudly on our table. I found the gesture not only odd, but
conversation. “I’m Brittany and I’m collecting donations for ‘Change for
Jesus.’ Get it?” Her resulting chuckle was so condescending that I had to
suppress my desire to punch her.
collect money to renovate an old church somewhere in the city. We’ve collected
over three thousand dollars just on campus. Will you donate?”
or clothe the poor?”
here you help Christians everywhere.”
hat like she was making some sort of coherent statement, “now is the time for
it was anger.
of God but by him. He performed many miracles, healing the sick and turning
water into wine—”
cup three times, and peeled back the lid. Alcoholic dregs slid slowly back down
the sides. “Now it’s wine. See? Nothing special.”
showed her the transformed liquid, she glared at me with cougar-like intensity.
screamed loudly enough that half of the cafeteria stopped to stare, and the
other half, wondering why the whole place just went silent, stared too.
annoyed anymore. This was actually sort of fun.
judge you,” she said, shaking uncontrollably. She glared at us a moment longer
as if trying to leave us with a lasting impression of guilt before she then
turned and stormed off.
it’s the hypocrites I can’t stand.”
uncontrollable laughter. “How could you possibly know that?” she chided.
reference, I would have preferred a cabernet.”
I've often been accused of having done more in my life than the average person my age but if I were completely honest, I'd have to tell you my secret: I'm really 392.
So after all this time, I'm a pretty crappy writer.
I have two books published and a bunch half written (when you have eternity, where's the reason to rush?). I've been favorably reviewed by horror greats like Nancy Kilpatrick, and my how-to-write-horror articles have been quoted in scholarly (aka community college freshmen's) papers.
I enjoy the occasional Bloody Mary, although a Bloody Kathy or Susan will suffice.
Mostly, I just try to keep a low profile so people don't figure out who I REALLY am.