Don’t think I’ve forgotten about this page, because I haven’t. I’m working on a couple of things right now, including a new short story (to be posted here when finally made worth reading) and the fifth revision of Strange Beasts in a Small Town.

Let me tell you, even being a total narcissist, the very prospect of reading this book for the fifth time is like torture. Still, I’m already finding stuff to fiddle with or cut away, so it’s a thing in need of doing.

For all those impatient for me to post something of significance, I wrote this little thingy for you. It’s called Torture.


Hey buddy, I’m working, 

No matter what you say.

You just have to be patient

While I’m whiling away.

No matter if you kick or punch or make me bleed,

Stab me in the eye or break my knees,

Bludgeon or burn or impale or cut,

Slice open my belly and pull out my guts,

Blacken both eyes or rip out my hairs,

Jab something up my nose ’til my septum tears,

Bust out my teeth or tear off my nails,

Break all my bones with medieval flails,

Fire a bolt from a crossbow into my face,

Shove a spear in my stomach, an axe in my waist,

Use a nodachi to slice out my spine,

Ram a calve-length dagger where the sun don’t shine,

Bash a morning star down into the thick of my head

And bash my brains in and leave me for dead,

Or just stand cross-armed, looking displeased,

Sighing, tongue-clucking impaitently,

Grimmacing or grunting, wearing a smirk,

Referring to me as a talentless jerk

Whose writing’s more worthless than a pile of shit

Only memorable because it’s so easy to forget,

Or scream, or bark, or holler, or cuss,

Twist off my fingers or kick in my nuts,

Keep cracking that whip as much as you like,

There’s only so fast I can fucking write.


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