Here Be Gods
Travis is stranded on a distant planet, hundreds of light-years from the rest of mankind. Will he be able to find a way home before he runs out of resources? Will he ever see his father again? Most important of all, will he be able to determine what killed the other humans on this world and keep it from spreading to the rest of humanity? Find out in Great River of the Abyss!
Available now in ebook, paperback, or hardcover at your favorite online marketplaces:
A character driven slice-of-life story that follows the humble lives of the residents of a suburban neighborhood as they live and love, and about the house with the dead yard, a vacant lot, that sits among their homes, inert and immobile, yet intimidating and terrifying to any who look at it too long. The children of the lane are not the only ones who are fearful of the anomaly in their midst. Every adult upon the lane wonders why the structure still stands, with no known owner and no reason to be. The lingering question is not who owns the house, but why no one ever goes in or comes out, and why there are such ghastly noises emanating from within. Day by day, the happy people of the lane go about their tasks and trials, and day by day, the house with the dead yard seems a little more ominous, a little more intrusive, and a little less ignorable than before.
There once was a lane, filled with well-tended lawns and well-fostered friendships, of well-appointed houses all neat and tidy and those that live within, of stories and mysteries that manifest for only fleeting moments for the few who pay attention. This is one such tale. A tale about pleasant people, about the lives they live, about their wants and dreams, about their loves and losses, their joys and hates, about their days and nights in the company of cherished companions in the houses they call home. It is a dance between tears and joy, of young and old, of hopes and fears, of knowns and unknowns, of those who have yet to live and those who never have. In this tale of the happy little lives of blissful simple folk, there are monsters, to be sure. But this is not the story of monsters, this is not the tale of their evil deeds, this is the tale of those they make suffer. In this tale, the monsters have no names. The monsters do not deserve names.
Available now in ebook, paperback, or audiobook at your favorite online marketplaces:
Once Upon A Lane at Smashwords
Once Upon A Lane at Barnes & Noble
Once Upon A Lane at Google Play
Also available in the iTunes App Book Store
If I write another word, nothing changes. If I write no more words, nothing changes. The sun rises, the sun shines, the sun sets, another day, nothing changes. If I die tomorrow, the world turns, time tips over and once more drains away another day. Nothing changes, nothing matters, nothing means anything more than it did a moment ago, another memory of matter decaying into another memory of matter, endlessly ebbing into entropy. If I write no more words, no one will remember, no one will wonder, no one will consider what I could have forged or rended asunder. Another day drains away, another month another year, another lifetime spent in confusion and fear, my life no more a measure of meaning than any other. Nothing changes, nothing lost, nothing gained. But, if I write another word, then perhaps it can matter where none I’ve penned before could, perchance it can persuade like none else I’ve uttered would, possibly that could be the word that transcends the inane and absurd and changes something for the better. A word, one single, simple word could lead to a sentence, mayhap a sentiment so serene yet supreme that others take heed and are freed of despair and doubt for all of a day, and for that one day the delusory doldrums and dilemmas that dog our diurnal duties could be cast away and we could move mountains, nay, all mankind toward a more temperate, tolerant, safe, and sane society. Maybe, against all odds, we can pretend, or at least pretend to pretend, that the future can be fair, if only we’d venture there, and all it would take is but a word to wake the world, all it would need is knowing of the seed of such a notion, that all it could take to break the nature of nothing ever changing is but a beginning. But maybe it is but a dream. Maybe tomorrow the sun will summit, shine, and set, and that is all we get. Live, laugh, lose. But maybe, just maybe, I should write another word.
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