Let's see what's new with Nomar...hmm. Yesterday I had fun on twitter as it was the first time I co-created a romantic poem with another writer from California. Ranee Dillon inspired me and we created a cool poem which can be read on my Knight Chills blog. www.knightchills.blogspot.com

On other news: I anxiously await the publication of the newest Masters of Horror anthology. It's supposed to be published some time this month. I hope it becomes available in time for my trip to New York. It's the first time I'm published in an anthology alongside some legendary horror writers.

Yes, the city that never sleeps awaits me which is quite fitting since I don't get much sleep these days.

My mind is full of too many characters trying to get my attention. There are some extraordinary characters fighting for me to get their story out. Among them: the vampire Countess Lorraina, a new character named Oscuro who calls himself Oscar. He's an angel of death of sorts in that he feeds on depression and thrives on torturing souls who commit suicide. The probable book is called Darkness Roams.

Other writers want me to hurry up and get a book published. I gave a minor character the spotlight in his own flash piece and now highly respected authors want me to get the story done. They anxiously await an MS for it. Lt. Woods can be found on Knight Chills in a story titled, Salvation.

What else have I done? Ah yes, I subbed for the lovely Adriana Noir in her magnificent contest A Midsummer Night's Scream. Entertaining stories in the bunch this year.

Right now I'm at work, mixing teacher stuff with finally writing in this blog. I'm feeling quite poetic. Perhaps if I get a break in the action, I can write a few more poems. I have a new horror poem that I just may send to SNM Horror Magazine. But I'll wait until I can send two or three.

I also wrote another poem which I like, but it's not horror and I'm not sure where it fits.

Ah yes, last week Lisa Hollar published my first zombie poem on her blog while she contributed a fine horror poem in mine. You can link up to her blog from mine.

That's all for this week. Catch you next week.

See you on the dark side.

ID: 1660628   (Rated: 18+) Joust of Horror Short Story Contest  Dark Knights: Create new horror shorts. Then expand them and Joust with Nomar Knight by Nomar Knight

ID: 1660628   (Rated: 18+) Joust of Horror Short Story Contest  Dark Knights: Create new horror shorts. Then expand them and Joust with Nomar Knight by Nomar Knight

I don't know what's gotten over me today, but I feel like bashing any appropriate target in the head with a frying pan. I didn't wake up feeling this way although last night I fell asleep at 7 pm which is a record for me. I guess I'm disappointed with myself for using my life-threatening sickness as an excuse to splurge on fatty foods. Add to that the fact Puerto Rico just went through its rainy season, and its no wonder I put back all the pounds I had lost by spring. Sucks!

Before anyone asks about the sickness. In June I was diagnosed with Dengue, a sickness which debilitates our immune system thanks to the annoying mosquito. I'm healthy again, although now I can't stand looking at myself in the mirror and with the holidays almost here, depression is trying to maintain its hold on me.

I'm also having lots of trouble concentrating. I have several projects I want to tackle, but lately I'm good at starting stuff, but not completing it. My attention deficit is in full swing.

And another thing, what's wrong with me? Why can't I sit my ass down and write some new poems. I checked out the prompts in my favorite poetry contest here on WDC and the muse stirred a bit upon reading the titles. Now if I can only find the discipline to write poetry. The last time I wrote six poems, back in February of this year and they all got published.

And yet another thing, I've taken some time off from stimulating my visual side too. I stopped drawing. Is there a cure for what I have?

Oh well, as soon as I'm done with this overdue blog entry, I'm going to get some coffee, sharpen the knife and skin someone alive until all that's left is their tattoo. Or perhaps, maybe just sit down with my Burning Love characters and find out if the stuff really hit the fan.

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight
 

Once again I must apologize for not keeping up with this Dark Musings blog. I've recently found employment again and it'll take me a little while to adjust to writing part-time.

What's new? Well, this is Halloween week and my friends and I are celebrating it big time on Knight Chills. www.knightchills.blogspot.com

Many of the WDC greats contributed. Treat yourself to great horror stories and poems. You won't be disappointed.

I miss corresponding with my friends, Adriana Noir, Tania, and Summer to name a few. I get home pretty tired.

Also, I've put back much of the weight I had lost. Back to the drawing board.

While writing full-time I had an incredible run of success. December brings with it many gifts and for me, a powerful horror story will be published in an anthology. The headliners-- John Shirley (The Crow) and F.Paul Wilson (The Keep). Amazingly, my name made the cover. Awesome! The book is called Masters of Horror: Damned if you don't. Look for it on Amazon in December.

I put a pause on my WIP which was the manuscript for TIME'S UP. I have to do some serious rewriting in the last third of the book. I wonder if I should work on something else since that book is starting to get on my nerves. I love the characters and the action, but I wrote it a long time ago. In those days, my writing was sketchy, therefore not a lot of meat on those bones. I wish I was as good as Adriana Noir. She's the best I know at imagery.

Well, I don't want to bore you, so I'll make it short and sweet.

I wish everyone a safe week.

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight

ID: 1660628   (Rated: 18+) Joust of Horror Short Story Contest  Dark Knights: Create new horror shorts. Then expand them and Joust with Nomar Knight by Nomar Knight

A good chase scene can raise the adrenaline of the reader. The most affective chase scenes occur on the big screen in movie land. The reason they make an exciting impact is because of the musical score which enhances the action. Unfortunately, writers don’t have the luxury of including music with their work, although technology is making strides in that area. Perhaps one day a fancy computer will create computer generated characters to automatically follow our stories. Characters loosely based on our descriptions will act out the action in the settings we create. We’ll even have the ability to suggest what music plays in the background. In other words, the skill of reading prose may erode to the point that video will rule.

For anyone who loves words like I do, the above scenario is a complete nightmare. While it’s always fun to see actors perform in a world we create, there’s no replacing the art of showing a scene through words. Yes I know that pictures are worth a thousand words, but I’m a purist and many would agree that certain movies failed to entertain as much as the novels they were based on.

Now there are two basic choices for the point of view in a chase scene. Some writers may opt to write from the character being chased. The adrenaline rush brought on by extreme fear may be an initial focus point. How the character reacts to his surroundings, including how he deals with obstacles, other character reactions, rough terrain, among other things is crucial to creating a good chase scene.

Another point of view could be through the hunter’s eyes. Sure adrenaline will kick in, but most importantly, what motivates the hunter to catch his prey? Let’s create a small example of the thrill of the chase through one of my fictional characters. Keep in mind, like a magician I love to use sleight of hand.

Sometimes the chase doesn’t have to be fast or rushed as evident with my character, Hunter Colby. Hunter’s an ex-FBI agent following what he thinks is a terrorist into the New York City subways.

Excerpt of Chapter 1 of my unfinished book, Shadow Walkers

**

From a safe distance, I studied the stranger’s deliberate movements. For a man of average height and portly build, he moved with uncanny stealth. I had to utilize my skills as a hunter not to lose him again because he had a knack for disappearing in a blink of an eye.

For hours, I shadowed the terrorist as he roamed the subways in search of the innocent. His pale complexion indicated he preferred nightlife which undoubtedly allowed him to escape the attention of peacekeepers like myself.

The night air chilled everything in its path, turning the subway into a meat locker. I studied the bomber while he eyed a petite beauty. As the express train roared by, a glimpse of drool fell off his chin. No, not drool, but blood; from biting his lips. His demeanor exuded confidence. He walked with his chin up, shoulders straight, and never did he look behind.

He bowed to the female and said something inaudible from my position. I could tell by the way she leaned toward him, that the scoundrel possessed convincing oratory skills. Taking into account what I knew about relationships, there was no way the older man could be her type. Nevertheless, the terrorist entertained the girl, her short spiky hair, crimson, alluring, outright sexy. She laughed at his advances but her gaiety soon changed to hypnotic wonder.

I admired the predator’s style, but found it difficult to erase a smirk from my face as he gestured for her to accompany him to a spot where darkness ruled. Recalling my own attempts at dating, her apparent interest in the stranger left me stunned. Was she letting his fine gold jewelry blind her from his sly smile? My jaw dropped upon witnessing the ease in which she hooked her hand through his arm and walked off with him.

Careful to maintain a safe distance behind the odd couple, I wondered why a well dressed man needed to get cheap thrills in such a rancid environment. Didn’t he have the resources to take the broad to a motel?

I ventured into uncharted territory, reaching deep into the tunnel. Yellow spotlights scattered throughout the darkness providing a gloomy glow which lasted ten paces until a vast void extinguished the light. Time appeared to stop as I walked for hours in that tunnel of death, yet somehow; the pair had eluded me. My sudden isolation, accompanied by a stiff breeze, tightened a knot in my stomach. Just when I was about to give up and return to the safe haven of the crowded station, my eyes, already adjusted to the darkness, spotted the terrorist standing before me. He gestured to his left. Another yellow light lifted a veil of despair creating the illusion of a halo surrounding the young lady. She sat slumped against a wall. Her eyes were closed, prompting me to withdraw my Glock nine millimeter pistol.

"Why are you following me?" His voice, not what I expected, echoed an ancient tone, powerful and eloquent. "What do you want?" he asked.

"The bombing, a couple of nights ago, are you responsible for it?”

His dark hypnotic eyes stopped time. He stared at me, much like a toddler studies a cockroach before he eats it.

With only my hunting skills as a child to fall back on, I declared, "I know what you are."

Instead of concern, he sighed as though relieved.

I continued, "I know you're a terrorist."

He grinned and said, "Look again."

Afraid to take my eyes off the stranger, my sweaty palms made gripping the firearm a challenge. It took great effort to maintain the weapon steady. My heart pounded as I stared into his ebony pools of menace. The wind which had earlier cut through my skin, abandoned the tunnel, leaving us standing in a vortex of humidity. I glimpsed back at the girl. My eyes watered when she reminded me of hunted prey.

"Open your mind to me." His voice beckoned though his lips did not move.

In a flash, images of his attack on the girl bombarded my mind revealing her willingness to be taken.

Out of sheer necessity, I squeezed off one, two, three rounds, but when the smoke cleared, he had not flinched. The terrorist opened his mouth, revealed his true identity, and towered over me. His thick vampire lips caressed my bare neck, followed by pure darkness.

**

Strange chase scene, since the one doing the chasing was actually the victim. I hope you enjoyed one of my versions of a chase scene.

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight

ID: 1660628   (Rated: 18+) Joust of Horror Short Story Contest  Dark Knights: Create new horror shorts. Then expand them and Joust with Nomar Knight by Nomar Knight

My apologies are due to the three readers of Dark Musings. It appears that my efforts to complete my novella and improve my Knight Chills blog has taken valuable time away from this blog. I won't use any lame excuses. I have been busy and quite fortunate. Knight Chills has more than doubled as far as visits to the site. Poems I've penned have actually been published or awaiting future publication. And I submitted a highly disturbing story for publication in an anthology. I'm keeping my fingers crossed on that one since I recently sent it off.

On other news, I will be a guest blogger on Wicked Muses. My appearance is slated for October 1st. I get to kick off Halloween month. Yay!

Update on my novella TIME'S UP: Being that I'm a bit of a perfectionist, I'm struggling to get the book, reader ready. I had to add another scene and am contemplating merging two scenes as one. And it's quite possible I may have to add yet another scene. It's difficult to find the self discipline necessary not to rush a project. I have a self imposed deadline for submitting the book by December because I need to write at least one horror novel before April of 2011. Talk about pressure.

It's been an amazing month for Joust of Horror on this site. If you haven't read the flash pieces, you should. Four finalist will battle last month's champion. No, I did prepare a story based on the prompt, but you won't read it here since that's the story I prepared for the anthology.

Sometimes it feels as if I'm cloaked in darkness and no one sees me. Unemployment has given me mixed feelings. I'm depressed because I'm not earning a living, and I'm feeling guilty because I'm having fun living as though I am a full time writer. Happiness still eludes me which may be a good thing since I've discovered that my strongest efforts lately belong in the Dark Romance genre. It turns out Romance is loved and read by more people than horror.

Another thing that's on my mind is why the feminine side of my muse is attacking so much. On Knight Chills I have a romantic series going, titled BURNING LOVE. It's real popular and I'm having fun wondering what the characters will do next.

To get back to poetry. The last time I sat down to write poetry was back in February. Every poem I wrote was picked up for publication. Now that's a great month. To think I was going to leave those things in my computer collecting dust.

Reading a cool psychological thriller written by my friend Poppet. Real life got in my way, but I hope to complete the book this week and post a review of the book. I will say she does an amazing job of getting into the psycho's mind. Anyone who's read some of my stories, knows how I like writing from the point of view of the killer.

Well, that's all for today. I hope you're all having a good and healthy life.

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight


 

“I couldn’t awake from the nightmare that sucked me in and pulled me under, pulled me under. Oh that was so real.” – Jeff Buckley

Shirley went to bed expecting nothing special. Life brought with it the usual problems. She was raising two kids by herself since her husband walked out on them. She could handle it. She told herself she didn’t need a man. At least her bills were paid and she provided for her children. Life could’ve been worse and she knew it. Nevertheless, she slept without expectations, without thinking about herself.

The dream began innocent enough. She explored an immense garden. Vibrant yellows and whites lay near purple and reds. Birds chirped. The sun shined but didn’t burn. Her escape from reality pleased her. Then without warning, the sun disappeared behind menacing clouds. Lightning flashed across the sky as thunder pounded within inches of her body. Shirley jumped. She thought a bomb had exploded near her feet. Her heart raced so she did what most people do, she tried to calm herself. “This is my dream. I’m in control.” She looked up at the sky and ordered the sun to return.

Another clap of thunder roared in defiance. She covered her ears. The auditory distraction rocked her equilibrium. No, she didn’t lose her footing because of the noise. The ground cracked underneath her feet. A gaping hole came to life. A vacuum of hot air wrapped around her ankles, pulling the terrified dreamer. Her thin fingers slipped along wet soil. She screamed, “No!”

At first the free-fall terrorized her psyche. However, as decline into oblivion continued, she figured sleep would end just before impact. Shirley tried to convince herself, the nightmare would soon be over. She landed in a pool of water. Breathing became difficult. She sealed her mouth and did her best not to inhale from her nose. She desperately swam toward the surface. A spec of orange light served as a beacon to freedom. She hoped.

As her hands cut through the surface, her lungs burned. A desperate gasp for air hindered her ability to maintain afloat. She flailed her arms, trying not to go under again. When at last she maintained her balance, the glimmer of light appeared as if miles away. “When will this nightmare end?”

Her words echoed throughout the black void. A cold silence added to the misery of being trapped in the dream. Control. Shirley needed to control the outcome more than ever. She tired of feeling helpless. She begged for mercy.

As she waited for a solution to arise, a pair of powerful hands dragged her under. She kicked and flailed, helpless to escape. Her body was dragged deep into the liquid coffin, choking any semblance of hope. Shirley prayed, but it seemed her words fell on death ears. Her life force began seeping away. Her final thoughts brought forth images of her loving children. Death was moments away.

Shirley gasped. She sat upright in the bed, her eyes stung with the orange glow of the rising sun. When at last she gathered her breath she whispered, “Oh that was so real.”

She went to the children’s room and saw her little angels sleeping. Deciding to make coffee, she ventured into the kitchen. A nervous energy pulsated throughout her body. When she finally calmed down, the house shook. The floor opened, and a pair of grimy hands pulled her inside her never ending nightmare.

**

There are some dreams that feel real to us. There are also dreams which shatter the fabric of time, entrapping us in a world of insanity, locked within our own subconscious. My favorite dreams are the dream within the dream. I hope Shirley will awaken from her nightmare and discover a wonderful revelation. I hope we all can learn something about ourselves from her experience.

Sweet dreams my friends and I’ll see you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight

ID: 1660628   (Rated: 18+) Joust of Horror Short Story Contest  Dark Knights: Create new horror shorts. Then expand them and Joust with Nomar Knight by Nomar Knight

         Dreams are an essential mechanism used by the dead to communicate with the living. While people dream, their conscious awareness is no longer restricted to the constraints of reality. It’s like crossing over to another dimension full of wonder, where gravity can be manipulated and the word “impossible” gets obliterated. In dreams, humans can fly, senses may heighten, desires breathe life, and fears open doors to horrors never before witnessed by man.

         Many authors are aware that dreams are a place where they can swim in a lake of creativity. Writers of horror travel to the land of dreams hoping to experience nightmares which may leave them paralyzed with fear. Of course, they also hope they can remember as many details as possible. If they forget what they dreamed of then what is the point of travelling to the mysterious realm?

         Of all the possible scenarios that can take place in a dream, the supernatural phenomenon of dead people communicating with the living, tends to leave us questioning religious philosophies which eliminate the possibility of life after death. When the line is crossed from dream to reality, the impact of such an encounter may leave us thirsting for concrete answers.

         Here’s an account, claimed to be of true events.

**

         Henry’s dream was interrupted by his grandmother who the previous month, had passed away. She died of an embolism in the hands of her youngest daughter, Sheila.

         The grandmother said, “Henry, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a problem and I think you may be the only one who could help me.”

         Henry wondered why she was genuinely apologetic, almost as if she was ashamed for entering his dream. “What’s wrong grandma?”

         He noted that although she looked at least forty years younger, the concern showing on her face seemed to take away from her glowing vitality.

         “Sheila is grieving too much for me. I’m afraid if she doesn’t stop, she’ll get gravely ill. Can you tell her I’m alright?”

         Henry tilted his head and asked, “Why don’t you just show her?”

         Her eyes beamed. He could tell by the change in her facial expression, she pondered the suggestion. She said, “I’ll see if I can do that.” With her last word, she vanished.

         Henry awoke that morning to a phone call. His aunt Sheila, who lived miles away in another state, wept. Through sobs she said, “Henry, I just had the most amazing dream. Mother told me she’s never been better. She showed me a beautiful garden and she was with my dead brother. They looked vibrant and happy. She said it was your idea for her to show me she’s okay.”

         An electrical sensation ran through Henry’s body, lifting the hairs on his arms. His heart pounded faster with excitement.

         Aunt Sheila continued, “Thank you.”

         Henry was at a loss for words. He tried to fight off tears of joy, but alas he couldn’t. They spent several minutes on the phone, crying together. They were both grateful for the connection they made in the land of dreams.

**

         The next time you venture off into the magical realm of dreams; pray you remember your adventure and that it touches your reality in a most profound way.

         Dream well, my friends.

         See you on the dark side.


Nomar Knight
 

The evil that men do is beyond the boundaries of time. Hostile behaviors fester in societies that embrace violence. An attack against an individual may be met with vengeance, while an attack against a nation usually implores a call for war.

Our planet is riddled with nations at war, people in power signing off on atrocities against their kin, and hatred of other races fueling crimes against peace. When will the madness end? Will time heal all wounds?

The aspect of time in itself may play a major role in the future of our world. For example, if or when time travel becomes possible, what kind of society will be waiting for daring explorers? If we follow the law of the land and assume that only the strongest survive, then it may stand to reason the future will belong to the species with the best advantage to adapting to their current environment. Since humans usually act like giant locusts, consuming anything gratifying to them, the possibility the planet may become nothing more than barren land is a horrific thought to fathom.

Stephen Hawking claims that time travel will someday become a reality but that we shouldn’t expect to go back in time. He explained that we may only go to a point from where the machine (spacecraft) is invented and forward towards the future. He went on to provide specific numbers, claiming one day in the time spacecraft will be equivalent to one Earth year.

As an author I enjoy speculating as to what the future will be like. Will mankind learn to put their differences aside and strive together to explore new worlds in the hope of providing a long future? The one constant we have to go on is that time will always be there and our planet continues to change. The surviving creatures will no doubt adapt to their environment.

Perhaps our children’s children will be alive long enough to travel to the future, but I wonder: if the trip will be one way, then how can the mystery that is the future be unveiled? At this point in our lives we are faced with more questions than answers. As technology continues to thrive, I hope the mystery begins to fade and a new clarity leads to a realization that mankind can indeed work together, eliminate prejudice and solidify its future for all, regardless of race.

But then again, maybe the future will belong to zombies born through mankind’s ineptness in dabbling with biological chemicals. Another possibility may have humans utilized as cattle for blood drinking vampires. Since nature tends to be hostile, why not agree with Mr. Hawking as he said on Stephen Hawking’s Universe, "If aliens ever visit us, I think the outcome would be much as when Christopher Columbus first landed in America, which didn't turn out very well for the Native Americans."

Speculation is indeed a writer’s best friend.

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight
 

A dark heart has no conscience, no morals, and no real sense of culpability. – The Book of Tortured Souls

Imagine meeting the man of your dreams. He’s easy on the eyes, yet in a crowd would be difficult to distinguish among others. He attends to your needs and pays special attention to how your friends and family treat you. He’s self sufficient in every way. Could he be the perfect man? Could he be Mr. Right?

The gentleman takes you to dinner and lavishes a fine meal and diamond jewelry. You convince yourself he can afford it; after all, he’s a consultant. You despise he has to travel all the time, but this time he’s taking you with him. Vegas, the destination you heard about will become a reality and you can only imagine what erotic wonders he has in store for you. Could it be the scene he chooses to propose marriage?

You spend a small fortune on negligee designed to showcase your luscious features. You will have him begging for mercy once you’re through with him. You picture the first evening together. After a dinner and a show, you go back to the suite. Once there, he shows you the time of your life.

The moment of truth arrives and you notice his attention span is shorter than normal. He rarely looks you in the eyes when you talk. At dinner he spends time glancing at another table, a couple. You wonder if he’s paying attention to the young floozy or the distinguished gentleman. At last you can’t stand it any longer and blurt out, “Honey, do you know those people?”

For the first time since you’ve known him he seems to change his facial expression to one you’ve never seen before. His lips smile but his eyes remain cold, distant. You debate with yourself about pushing for answers, but something in your gut tells you to drop it.

Almost as if you are with two distinctively different people, your man, the one you recognize takes you back to the suite and falls under your spell. He makes love to you like no one else. The night is going according to plan except something happens. You wake not remembering having fallen asleep. You see his side of the bed empty.

You put on a gown and go outside. The suite directly across from yours has its door ajar. You don’t know why, but curiosity leads you to shove the door open. There you see your perfect man fitting a revolver to a corpse’s hand. You barely recognize him as the man at the restaurant having dinner with the floozy. You spot the woman on the bed, blood on her chest, blank eyes staring at the ceiling.

You gasp and he leaps to you, grabbing your shoulders. You stutter, but somehow find a way to ask, “Why?”

“Don’t worry darling. It’s just business.”

Behold your perfect man. He’s a cold killer with no conscience, no morals, and no sense of culpability. You think he’s going to kill you too, but he surprises you.
“Now that you know what I do. Will you marry me?”

Not the proposal you’d hoped for. Although he doesn’t elaborate, the choice is clear. Deny the assassin and become victim number three or marry the monster and learn to live with a real grim reaper.

If faced with this scenario, what choice would you make?

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight
 

Random thoughts for the day:

Last week I heard there was no such thing as time management. We all have the same 24 hours to get things done, or pray we get another 24 hours to see if the tasks will get done. I discovered, we don't manage time, we prioritize. What's important to me may not necessarily be a task I may take on during the day. I love to write. I enjoy blogging, creating, rewriting, pondering, hoping, laughing, and holding back tears. Blame that one on my mother. She told me men don't cry. Nonsense of course. I have feelings. Sometimes they come out for all to see in my stories. Although, I consider myself a cold person for certain sensitive issues so it's surprising when someone tells me they cried at the end of one of my stories. The first thought that comes to mind is: was it that bad? But if it's a story like "Suffocated Love" then I understand. Crying at the end is a good thing.



I guess I can accept crying from a woman easier than a man. The first reader I had told me he cried, was a man who admitted it in front of a group of people. He caught me off guard. I tried to melt in my seat as all wide eyes were on me. Awkward!



Something that's happening here on WdC makes me happy. My contest Joust of Horror is growing in popularity, slowly but surely. I wonder if people know it's not important to win, but to play the game. Stories that lose have the potential to grow into best selling novels. And if you happen not to get asked to extend the story, do it anyway and email me the link personally. Who knows, it may get chosen for next year's Joust of Horror Anthology.



Oh well, I guess that's all for today's random thoughts. Now if I could only do a better job of prioritizing. Maybe tomorrow, if real life doesn't get in the way.


See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight

 

Since the beginning of time, the devil's minions hide in plain sight, chameleons of faith, and executioners of hope. - The Book of Tortured Souls, Nomar Knight


Watch out for the bad good guy! Sometimes it’s difficult to discern bad guys from good. In real life the identities aren’t always clear. It may be a trusted servant who turns against his master by torturing what’s most precious to him—his child. Perhaps a popular teacher, who’s entrusted with educating children so their trek into the world of academia could be smooth, goes beyond the call of duty and educates the student by crossing boundaries which may lead them both into moral dilemmas.

One of the most horrifying antagonists is the chameleon of faith that hides in plain sight. No, he doesn’t lurk in the shadows waiting for an opportunity to strike. He befriends his victims, constantly painting himself as the good guy who exudes righteousness, making him the envy of all unsatisfied with their own imperfections. Priests or men and women of the cloth were considered people who sacrificed personal comforts in order to serve others. Most perform their jobs well and maintain their authentic good guy status, but a few undermine the fabric of the prestigious position. So while it may be common place to hear about charges being filed against a Catholic priest or a pastor who got caught soliciting or performing “special services” deemed by their own religion as unacceptable moral behavior, fiction may illuminate the few infractions and cast an illusion that they are all enemies of society. Such a false assumption can leave many to brood about in the dark halls of ignorance.

What are sinners to think if their leaders fall to temptations of the flesh? The mere acts of betrayal to all they preach serve to remind their flock how week humans are. The power of temptation can bring the strongest of the faithful down to their knees, but not necessarily in prayer. The vulnerability of falling to the enemy can put a damper on hope.

Real life horror sometimes serves to inspire fiction. Writers enjoy tantalizing readers by mixing true events with unbelievable possibilities which may go beyond entertainment. Keep them guessing is a great formula for spinning a yarn. Another technique which may entertain is the art of illusion. It’s fun to lead readers to a logical conclusion and then pull the rug out from under them. Ah but one must be careful, for writers should not punch holes through their hypnotic bubble. Instead, they should try and immerse their readers into the worlds they create so when authors make the giant elephant disappear, readers may accept the twisty outcome as something amazing, yet wonderful and plausible for that specific world of fiction.

Betrayal of the most sacred kind when used properly in horror, may add an emotional dimension your characters can draw on to pack a powerful, realistic punch.

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight
 

When love is not madness, it is not love. ~Pedro Calderon de la Barca

Interrupting my thoughts she said, “I’m crazy about you.” Ebony hair hung over her right eyebrow. “This love is intoxicating. I almost can’t breathe.”

As we rose to our feet and sauntered to a tree, Krystal hugged her bag describing what we had as suffocated love. Leaves sprinkled the scene with red, brown and yellow, some floating on our sneakers. – Excerpt from my story Suffocated Love published at Lit Fest Magazine

I do believe there’s a fine line between love and insanity. Obsession is one of my favorite forces that drives a good story line forward. I don’t believe in doing things half way. If you’re going to do something, give it your all. I suppose when you look at falling in love, in the beginning you may see things through rose colored glasses. We may easily overlook our mate’s imperfections, whether physical or mental, potentially opening up a window into deep trouble.

To truly know what’s inside the mind of our lover is to explore with open eyes all they have to offer. Sometimes we get caught up in the euphoria that is love and we risk drowning in a sea of surprises. As we all know, surprises are like coins, each side may represent something wonderful or painful. Imagine if a lover reveals an obsession which latches on to a terrible secret. Imagine if she will go through amazing lengths to answer some of the most intriguing mysteries of life and without your consent, drags you into a world where darkness animates terror into a heart-pounding reality for which escape is impossible.

Join me as two young lovers’ journey into a realm never before seen by man. Through Krystal’s lover, Alex, we discover just how far love transcends the limits of mortality and its intoxicating power which can reach beyond the intricacies of reality. Read “Suffocated Love” and swim in the madness that is love.


Here's the link to Suffocated Love :
http://www.litfestmagazine.com/Site/Romantic_Contest_Winners.html

Nomar Knight
 

Uncertainty breeds contempt so if you must get even; do it quickly. The Book of Tortured Souls, Nomar Knight

Ah, vengeance is a powerful catalyst capable of stoking the flames of horror. Here’s a definition of vengeance: “infliction of injury, harm, humiliation, or the like, on a person by another who has been harmed by that person; violent revenge: But have you the right to vengeance? (Dictionary.com)

I found it strange that the people who define vengeance thought it necessary to throw in a moral disclaimer. Not to worry, I’m not going to delve on the moral aspect. Instead I’d like to briefly examine vengeance as a motivating factor for either a protagonist or antagonist. A good horror story shines when one of its main characters utilizes unique methods to get even. Many of my stories involve payback of horrific proportions because I’m someone who loathes unjust actions. There are times I feel the justice system is blind to its victims.

The Saw series grew its origins from the notion that justice must be served at all costs. Director James Wan utilized gruesome visual tactics to make the initial movie a picturesque show of macabre proportion. I believe not all horror involving the execution of vengeance need be a bloody display. Sometimes the best vengeance is to destroy a character’s psyche before feeling the need to do physical damage. Of course, the movie Saw accomplished bringing much anguish to its characters, so in essence, it covered all the angles.

I know I stated that if one must carry out vengeance to do it quickly, but in fiction—the only venue where I feel vengeance should be carried out— it’s best to drag things out, building suspense as the plot thickens until eventually quenching the reader’s thirst for justice.

So the next time you find yourself searching for purpose to write horror, think about the sweet screaming sounds of payback and just maybe, you’ll have a bloody good time.

Nomar Knight
 

The dead don't play by the rules of the living; they don't play at all. - The Book of Tortured Souls, Nomar Knight

Ghosts roam the halls of the living. What you think is a shadow or a trick of light just may be a former human testing the limitations set forth by mortality. Surely, you’re not one of those people that lie awake at night because you sense you’re not alone. You hear footsteps on the wooden floors. You see movement by the closed window. My question to you is: why should this worry you?

Some people's experiences with ghostly apparitions tend to be limited because they do a wonderful job of shutting out the distractions. Sometimes they're tempted to think ghosts like playing games with us foolish mortals, but the reality may be that they have trouble communicating with the living. Let’s face facts; many people prefer to live a simple life, oblivious to other worldly possibilities. Is it really better to turn a blind eye to the existence of ghosts?

Those who have had ghostly encounters may feel that the apparitions should have been off to some magical paradise, but instead felt compelled to either enlist their assistance or tie up loose ends. Smirk all you will, we can’t see air but we know it’s there. Just because you’re not sensitive to your surroundings doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real.

There’s another theory that explains ghosts. Some believe in alternate universes and they say when a hole hits the fabric of reality, we can see the other beings as if they were ghosts. Sounds like something entertaining to write about, but that explanation doesn’t hold water for me. Many believe we go somewhere when we die and I prefer to keep an open mind to the possibility of life after death. This is not an attempt to convince skeptics, for they will believe what they want to believe. Instead, this an attempt at starting a conversation about possibilities and perhaps help form a theory that could explain the phenomena of ghosts.

Got to go now. Oh, what's that I see? Is it a familiar face now a shadow? Perhaps a ghost is waiting for me to listen. Have fun if you care to uncover a mystery that may only get answered when we move on to another realm.

Nomar Knight
 

Isolation is damning when it's not self inflicted. – Book of Tortured Souls, Nomar Knight

Become your character.

I sit in a field of barren land, marveling at a purple sky. A brisk breeze tantalizes me to the point I realize its evil attempt at hypnosis. I suddenly notice I must rise or face impending doom. So I do it, I get up ordering my legs to run, dumbfounded when pain rifles up my calves clawing deep in my knees. Examining my legs closer, I notice nothing out of the ordinary. I wonder if my failure to launch into a sprint a sign that old age is creeping up on me.

The breeze picks up its intensity, cutting my skin with a sleek dryness like razor sharp teeth. Lines of blood reveal themselves in my half covered arms. The environment’s hostile treatment of my presence, urges me once again to run. I get ten yards before the pain knocks me to the dirt laden road. On my knees, I cry out, “What’s happening?”

Instead of an echo, silence fills the now orange sky. A sense of dread fills my heart. I speak aloud, hoping the sounds of life can convince me that my isolation is only temporary. “Where is everyone?”

In fiction something or someone would respond to the character’s pleas, but in this reality, my words hang in the thickening air only to disappear as if never spoken. My breathing becomes erratic. For the first time I begin to wonder if my predicament is my entire fault when I realize, I don’t know my name.

My open display of weakness becomes complicated when tears roll down my cheeks followed by cries of pity. I pump my fists in the air, ashamed of what I have become. The wind lifts the barren dirt in a swirl as grains of sand lash at me from all angles. I cover my eyes, for the sting of the sun adds to my misery.

“How did I get here?” I yell knowing full well no one will respond.

I weep like a child in need of a loving mother’s touch. Instead of a soft caress, Mother Nature pounds more dirt on me. A cruel reality I wish upon no man. Somehow I muster the strength to rise again and through enormous pain, sprint towards a dark shade just below the hill. I think sure the god of circumstance will show mercy and shelter me from this dreaded sandstorm. When I reach the shade I hear running water. I go through the first sign of healthy foliage and find a renewed energy as a cold mist sprays its soothing pellets on my face. A cascading waterfall crashes over rocks unto a lagoon. Without thinking I dive in the pool of life, grateful for a second chance, grateful for the thirst quenching mercy bestowed upon me.

Laughter gets my attention. Two naked women laugh as they watch me from atop a boulder. They point and giggle.

At last, loneliness has lost its grip on me and a laugh, giddy like a child tickled by angels. I try to speak but my words come out muffled. In my second attempt at communication my voice sounds as if my voice box is used for the first time in years. “Hello ladies.”

Once again they laugh. They rise, clasp their hands together and jump into the water. A large splash hits high in the air before crashing down, soaking my head. I welcome the intrusion. I bask in the flapping sounds. I stretch my arms forward, hoping they’ll reach my hands when I notice a few seconds pass before a deafening silence reawakens my senses.

In lieu of standing in a pond, mud reaches my waist. What I saw as a cascade of water was instead rocks falling from a cliff. The laughter of females becomes the cries of a flock of vultures. One of them swoops down on me and pecks a piece of skin off my wounded arm.

The sun’s rays weigh on me like never before. A heavy burden of survival presses on my back. I wonder aloud, “Am I the last of my kind?”

What I thought to be water were pebbles. I reach my aching bloody face, weary of my surroundings. I attempt to move back through the mud, but the more I press on, the deeper I sink. Quicksand. Another vulture swoops by and my quick reaction surprises me. I grab its claws as the force of his flight steers me to more solid ground, stunning me. It pecks my chest causing me to cry out. “You’re not getting me, you bastards!”

I sniff the dense air, but instead of despair, I inhale a whiff of freedom. I continue to wade through the fast disappearing shadows, allowing hope to carry me to the promise land.

When writing horror I sometimes like to end things with hope. Sometimes. Especially if the narrator is first person, then I must assume he survives somehow. Unless of course; he’s providing the details as a ghost. I wanted to write something depressing so I played with setting and made the character react to his five senses. Notice I don’t know the character’s identity. I also wanted to write something psychological and I believe this fit the bill. Can you imagine being stuck in such a predicament? I hope this little blog entry served to inspire your muse.

See you on the dark side.

Nomar Knight
 

Society cultivates its monsters. With its tongue it calls for equality but with its hands it shackles aspirations, condemning itself to a world where darkness rules. – The Book of Tortured Souls, Nomar Knight

What’s in a villain? One need not look far to create a suitable bad guy. I enjoy stories where the villain is created out of necessity. Opposing forces must collide in order to wreak havoc with the protagonist’s simplicity. Conflict when created as a natural result of the action is worth digging into. Take Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein. A man’s need to prolong life became warped when he decided to take the place of the Creator himself and create life from dead body parts. Man’s need to live forever cultivated the monster known as Victor Frankenstein. He in turn built a monster that has lived throughout literature.

Not all writers will be able to create such brilliant characters but if we search within society, magnificent characters await, itching for us to tell their tale. There are many things happening around us every day, some of it contributing to real horror. All we have to do is keep our eyes open and our minds receptive to uncovering the madness that sits within our reach.

Science has been advancing at an alarming rate and with its advancements come the promise of a new world. Well, imagine a new world laced with opposite characters that must naturally fight each other to succeed? Ask yourself what scares you about society. Wouldn’t you want to change how people behave? For centuries madmen delved in unique ways to control mankind only to fall short of their insane aspirations.

Search your surroundings hard enough and eventually a hero will be born. Keep searching and be amazed as the hero’s opposite will emerge, but don’t be surprised if you find yourself sympathizing with the bad guy. Villains can be magnanimous and therefore alluring. Villains can take over a story and become more powerful than the protagonist. It happened to Batman as I sat and watched the Joker become bigger than life, more important as he forced society to rethink the delicate fabric it lived by. Now that’s a villain worth meeting, but only in fiction.

Nomar Knight
 

The soul that can speak through the eyes can also kiss
with a gaze. ~Gustavo Adolfo Becquer


Be happy to be alive. Show affection and it will be returned to you ten fold. I truly believe that. I know this is supposed to be Dark Musings but today I feel like the light is embracing me with its glorious splendor. So for today, let's delve on the beauty of something as simple, yet alluring as a kiss.

Ah, to kiss with a gaze is an art that not all men understand. I'll admit we men love to be physical, but to connect with another soul, that's what kissing with a gaze is, a real connection that goes beyond the physical. Such a lost art as too many of us get caught up with looks, like what type of body they have? Are they muscular, toned, or curvaceous? Do they have a spare tire or a keg? Does the nose match the face? Well, I'm one that tends to see with the soul since I automatically look into the eyes which reveal so much of what's happening in a person's life. I guess that's why I'm fixated on the eyes in my stories. One of my favorite stories which I haven't found a home for is Eyes of the Dead. It's about a boy who grows up with an ability to see everything about a person's life when that person is in his last dying moments. The boy grows up to be a real hero serial killer. Ha, perhaps this is going to be a dark entry after all. *grins*

The eyes are mysterious and alluring. I love all color eyes. Take chocolate for instance: it's dark yet enticing. Blue reminds me of tranquility, but when accompanied by a little violet, something stirs inside that person, something that disturbs the soul. Emerald green is lovely, but I'm fascinated by olive green. These people tend to have to deal with dual personalities. They're usually surrounded by loving people who don't know how to express their love. I understand the battle they fight every day. Then there is the hazel eyes. Chameleons capable of changing colors based on what they wear. They are multi-talented individuals capable of maintaining secrets. As for me, I have light brown eyes encircled in a line of blue. I too have two personalities which happen to be complicated.

So the next time you find yourself compelled to kiss with a gaze, remember: secrets may seep out so be prepared for the unexpected.

Nomar Knight
 

The future is an opaque mirror. Anyone who tries to look into it sees nothing but the dim outlines of an old and worried face. ~Jim Bishop

Sometimes we spend too much time in the past or get caught up with all the troubles in the present, therefore making the future look bleak. In times such as these we need to hold on to optimism. We must hold on to it for dear life or risk falling into an abyss where sunlight is extinguished by despair. Don’t fall into a cold, lonely place designed to consume positive energy and twist it into swirls of mortifying dread.

How can we be sure not to fall into a trap set by our desire to know what will happen next? The answer: by remembering we must take corrective measures within ourselves. If you find yourself at odds with others then perhaps it would be prudent to examine why they displease you. Are you merely projecting what you dislike about yourself? Take stock of what you have, where you are, and where you want to be, and research. Look at the people that have what you want and ask yourself: what did they have to sacrifice? Then ask yourself if you are truly willing to perhaps, give up more. Not all of us live parallel lives. Many different people must travel their unique roads in order to get to their promise land.

The future is an opaque mirror so take the time to live and enjoy the moment for in the end, if it is written in the stars that you will achieve your goals; then it will be so. Take it from me; life’s too short to sweat the small stuff. Make every moment count and things will fall into place.

Happy Writing!

Nomar Knight

 

Setbacks strike when we least expect them. I was on quite a roll but after getting hit with a virus, I'm finding it a challenge to write for an extended period of time. A virus transmitted by mosquito forced me to take a much unwanted vacation away from my passion--writing. I'm back again and finding it difficult to gain enough stamina to finish my work.

Of course, there's always a silver lining. Lost ten pounds in a week. This past week I lived my own real life horror, dealing with an overcrowded hospital where only one doctor tended to the masses. Insanity! Even as I type these words I wonder how soon before I must stop and go lie down.

There's a witch story inside me; one I won't be able to share if I don't regain my strength before the month is out.

I apologize to my readers for not being able to contribute to this blog and Knight Chills. I hope everyone is having a good summer. Got to rest again. Perhaps I'll be able to create something new when I return.

Nomar Knight



 

Today I felt pass over me
A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
~Charles Baudelaire

Ah, what to write today? Most writers go through periods where the blank page haunts them. They dare to dream but when they awaken; they find their adventures fluttered away, drawn in by the thief of dreams. Dry spells turn into droughts, which in turn become neurotic fuel which causes the artists to question their talents. They examine their lives to see where they went wrong. They cry out, “Surely the gods are mistaken. Please don’t abandon your favorite child. Shine your light on me and let me be whole again!”

Well, I’m here to suggest you turn insanity into something manageable. Take the wings of madness and make them yours. Think outside yourself. Convince your psyche that although the thief of dreams stole your opportunity at creating amazing prose, you will not abandon your ability to see into the world of madness. Dream awake and discover the wonder that is nirvana. Spite the gods of boredom and complacency and search for the fountain of perfect prose, regardless of what your conscience tells you. Become the rebel and soon enough you will attract a world filled with imaginary characters begging to whisper their secrets.

Of course, if all else fails, while you drink a glass of alcohol before bedtime, think about what scares you most and tell yourself you will remember the nightly visions because you welcome fear. Yell at the gods and say, “Go ahead, scare me! I dare you!”

I wish you creepy dreams and days filled with terror filled prose.

Nomar Knight