by Nomar Knight
Delve into the mind of a Dark Knight.
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It's difficult to find someone who thinks like I do. Join me in exploring the dark side of life. Through torture and murder we can discover what makes us tick. Are you a Knight of Darkness? Do you seek pleasure through the misery of your characters? If so; then join me on a quest to answer a series of questions about the other realm, our inner psyche, destiny, and many other topics that may rise from the recesses of oblivion.
| Can't believe it's been 7 years since I joined this wonderful website. I have met some outstanding writers who are passionate about writing and compassionate about people. Also, I have been fortunate enough to meet at least one writer in person, and a few through Skype. That was way cool! Best of all, I have grown as a person and a writer. This place is fabulous and I hope to keep sharing the knowledge with anyone who wants to carry on in the WRITE ON tradition. WDC provides me with some one-of-a-kind memories that I truly cherish.
Thank you all and thanks to the amazing reviewers who encourage me to write until I bleed on the page.
| Doesn't matter what kind of rhythm I may think I have, somehow, prolonging the flow of writing slips away as if trying to play a game of hot potato. Though to be fair to myself, I do suffer from attention deficit disorder. Excuses aside, it would be nice to focus clearer and not let my daytime duties steal time away from my passion for writing.
Perhaps I've been going at this all wrong. Instead of trying to follow to-do lists that I forget to read, or to complete, I should try a DONE LIST. A done list is when you accomplish a task. Mind you, it's not for attempted tasks, just things you've actually completed. The good thing about a DONE list is that it's positive and it helps stroke your ego and raise your self-esteem. Seeing your small and large accomplishments in a list eliminates the depressing feeling that comes with to-do lists. I compare to-do lists with a nagging parent, not something I need following me around the rest of my living days.
Yes, I should start a DONE LIST tonight. If only I could eliminate my biggest problem...PROCRASTINATION!
Oh well, one problem at a time.
| Tonight I posted this quote on FaceBook: "I can make it so you don't feel pain ever again." Which comes from one of my works in progress titled, Lost In Darkness. The antagonist or is it protagonist since I usually prefer narrating as the villain? Anyway, my ruthless vampire, Lorraina Sandoval, is all set to turn the protagonist and narrator, Roman. What got me thinking about Lloraina's proposal to Roman is that as I write this, I'm suffering from back spasms. I don't always get back pain, but I wonder what it would be like to skip the nuance of pain.
I also wonder how many people would give up being human for a shot at immortality. Personally, I understand this body wasn't made to last forever so I'm glad that my essence will go back to its original state. Whatever that is. As for vampires having incredible strength, super speed, and the ability to defy gravity, I'm all for those traits. However, I should consider the vampire's vulnerabilities. Let's see, deathly allergic to sunlight, being repulsed by food, and needing to wear a breastplate to protect the heart are not weaknesses I want to have.
In my case, the mystical allure of the vampire is not enough for me to get turned. So for now, I'll stick to popping painkillers.
Catch you on the dark side!
| As writers and creative people, once in a while we may irk a reader or two. Sometimes they get so mad that they may send a letter or email ranting about what terrible writers we are. I can understand that. I know I'm not a one hundred dollar bill so not everyone is going to like me or what I write about. However, when a writer gets killed for what he writes then I say to hell with insanity. I know us writers are forced to grow thick skins because not everyone is going to like our work, but it's time educated people did battle with ignorance.
Naturally, by battle I'm not saying go out and do unto others as they have done to you. I'm saying, battle against ignorance through education. Although I must admit, when a person isn't interested in learning, there's very little society can do. Also, if a stronger stance is required then I hope human rights aren't violated in the process.
As for the terrorists that attacked the writers/cartoonists in France today. As far as I'm concerned, they lost their right at freedom and should be prosecuted for their outrageous crimes.
The world must unite against terrorism. In the meantime, my prayers are with the victim's families and all the decent people of France.
| Hello my friends,
For a guy I used to be typical. Used to spend hours watching or playing sports. Enjoyed playing pool with the guys. Had fun dancing with the ladies. Gradually, my hobbies have changed. I replaced sports with writing. Billiards is rare and TV watching has become the norm. I rarely take the time to read fiction. The last two years I was in the dark ages, missing out on all of my friends' new books. Pathetic!
Just tonight I realized that I have another profession to add to teaching and writing. I'm a juggler. Teaching demands more and more of my time. I find that I'm isolated the majority of the time since I live alone. Seems that I have to squeeze time in for my family. It's not easy when the kids have families of their own. So it's like I'm juggling everything that comes my way. The constant paperwork at the job drives me nuts. My poor usage of time needs to improve.
Anyway, I haven't written in this blog in two years. Two years! All I can say is that I was lost and hopefully, I'm out of the tumultuous sea of oblivion and back to the world I love most. Heck, I hear some of my favorite writers on this site have published new books. I'm looking forward to getting back into the swing of things. So in the spirit of New Year's Resolutions, I'm going to make mine now.
1. I'll shoot for the low goal of writing 250 words a day.
2. I must read at least one book a month.
3. I mustn't neglect my health. (Rolls eyes)
4. I should help my fellow writers by at least providing one review per week.
5. Contact old WDC friends.
6. STOP PROCRASTINATING!!!
7. Keep enjoying every stolen moment with loved ones.
8. Organize every aspect of my life. (Tall order for me).
9. Lose a few pounds without going on a diet.
10. Don't forget to have fun.
11. Always do my best and let God do the rest.
12. In times of depression, remember resolution # 11.
That's all for tonight. Wish me luck!
|That’s it! I had enough of the time wasting. WANTED: Contract killer for hire! I’m looking for one bad-ass character who will keep me entertained by shouting his dirty deeds into my mind. I’m tired of making excuses for not writing. However, I do have a perfectly valid excuse for losing my concentration easily. I have attention deficit, but still, I should be able to get at least one short story completed.
Okay, now for rant issue number two: does anyone know who invented procrastination? If you find out, let me know so I can execute the person myself.
Perhaps I should be grateful that I finally got Darkness Roams in a digital format. You can check it out at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AXUIG30. Anyway, I’m eager to get to work on my next project, whichever it may be since my mind is filled with all sorts of dark and demented goodies. From a female assassin, to a psycho collector of eyes, to a fat kid that when he sees blood on his hands someone dies, to a homicide detective that sees dead people, to vampire twins who work for a secret government organization, to a writer who frequently hits his head on the keyboard. Um, oops, that’s me. Scratch that one.
Oh well, some of you may be thinking that my well isn’t dry, that it will be a matter of time before I get going again. It’s going to be tough. I report back to work tomorrow and my students are talented. They will keep me busy. What with all the torturing, um, I mean teaching that I must do. Preparing classes takes time.
Anyway, wish me luck! If you hear loud wailing screams in the middle of the night, don’t worry, it’s just me complaining about drifting off into the torturous world of procrastination.
Catch you on the dark side.
It's been a couple of years since I posted anything in my Dark Musings Blog. I can only say that I've been going through a number of changes. No, don't worry, aside from getting older, my looks remain the same. I've been changing inside. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not like most people. I tend to shy away from certain abilities. I've been hiding a secret from some of my family members. Apparently, every once in awhile the supernatural world collides with my cozy reality. I've spent the last two years trying to shut off contact with the other side. This December 31st was the first time that the voices and visions did not visit. Perhaps I was successful. Just maybe I can now live a "normal" life.
Yeah right! I hate to admit this but for me, normal is far too boring. I welcome nightmares. I'm still intrigued by mysteries. Somehow, I can't shake the feeling that 2013 will be filled with visits from horrendous and hopefully entertaining characters. There's a darkness inside me dying to get back out! Hence, while I try to make heads or tails out of my experiences, I will do my best to post some of them in this blog.
For those that don't know me, here's a little background: I'm divorced with two adult children. I have two grandchildren and one on the way. I live alone on an island that's a cosmetic paradise. I'm surrounded by beautiful weather, enchanting surroundings and lots of isolation. I share this island with people who are for the most part, peaceful with the exception of drug dealers who are in constant battle for territory and dumb ass men who find it fitting to kill their wives, children, and then themselves.
As the author of Darkness Roams, I have been given the gift of insight into some of mankind's horrific activities. Certain characters visit me. Some claim to be dark angels, others righteous angels, and yet others vampires. I have done battle with demons and I must say, I prefer isolation to the company of those maggots. Oh, and I'm also a teacher.
Please join me while I struggle with life as a writer who also happens to be an expert procrastinator. Help me come to grips with my revelations by questioning my sanity. I feel as if 2012 was turning me into a lazy zombie. It's time to pick up my sword (pen) and draw blood from the most unusual of foes.
Take note that I may offend some of my readers on occasion, but for the most part, I hope to awaken dialogue that can help us all come to grips with not only the horrors of life, but the beauty of sharing experiences with you.
Welcome back to the darkness that is my mind!
|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 Jezri 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.
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|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.
|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.
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|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.
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|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.
|“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.
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| 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.
|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.
|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.
|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.
|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.
|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 :
|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.