We all have fantasies right?

Some more than others, I heard once that, fantasy is nothing more than an awake dream. I have fantasies all the time, mostly filthy ones, and they are harmless. We can’t help when it, when we dream what we dream and I think the same goes for our fantasies. Is it our unconscious mind trying to bring forth a part of us that doesn’t exist, yet? Or is it just a silly wish that we know will never come true? For instance, in my dreams and fantasy I am kind of a slut but in real life, I am a loving devoted wife and have been for the past sixteen years. I would never do anything to ruin my relationship but sometimes I fantasize about another life another me. One that is not bogged down with the wifely, and motherly duties I have. Is it some deep-seated craving or is it just a fantasy.

I think as humans we all wonder “is the grass really greener on the other side?” For most of us we go through life content wondering here or there but never truly acting on it. While others jump from grass to grass searching, hoping for that sweet green field. That one that is going to change them forever. I know because I too was once, one of those people, and I know until you are content with yourself. You will never find those sweet grasses.

For me just like reading a book, or dreaming, or even writing a book, I am a very visual person so my fantasies, tend to take on a life of their own. I just did a short story on my blog about a serial killer and his first kill. I could actually see the feather falling down,  the blood on his clothes, and the corpse lying at his feet. I am told that is what makes me a good writer! To be able to visualize everything so clearly. Maybe that is true, I don’t know but when I am in a fantasy I am all in. I can feel the waves of the ocean lapping at my feet, I can smell the salty air, I can see the moon mirroring himself off the sea smiling down upon me, and it is amazing. Maybe my fantasies help me to write better or maybe it is vice versa, but all I know as long as I can fantasize about whatever I want, I will write about them as well. The possibilities are endless…


What is your fantasy?


Nightmares and reality

The dream began as it always did with flashes of a past filled with images you only see in a nightmare. Crimson blood smeared on the white pillows, their downy soft feathers falling like rain back onto the bed gently.Their now contrasting colors of white and red stealing their innocence. The night is filled with a deafening silence, the room empty and void of all life save for his breathing, becoming more labored by the minute.
Terror seeped into his pores as he made his way to her side of the bed. Seeing her there so lifeless her eyes now just empty soulless orbs staring into oblivion. Her long blonde usually perfectly coifed locks matted together with blood. The ends still dripping with her life’s elixir.

His eyes traveled down her body where her arms were covered in deep gashes as if someone had taken a knife to a cutting stone. Yet, instead of stone, it was her soft supple flesh, now turned into nothing more than so much meat. The ripped edges already crusting over from the rapidly drying blood. Adam’s breath caught as his eyes caught the blood still oozing out of her chest and abdomen. Her once perfectly rounded breasts now just a ragged gaping mess of flesh flayed down to the bone. Her intestines were spilling out of her stomach and onto her legs the flies had already begun to feast on the grotesque scene before him. It was like some kind of horror movie only the scene was captured right here in his bedroom. He bent down to touch her face the bile beginning to rise even further as white hot tears stung his eyes.

He waited for a heartbeat half expecting her to wake at any moment and say “Gotcha” but he knew she was dead. He bent his forehead to hers and as the tears fell and splashed down upon her lifeless corpse he closed her eyes never to see their blue sparkle again. He stood not knowing what do to. Enraged at who could have taken his beautiful wife away. It was a moment of pure insanity as he began to shake from the sheer terror of it all. Her blood soaked the white plush carpet and yet, he still felt he may get some on him and was freaking out at the thought.

Adam finally looked down at his own body as it shook with a mixture of grief and terror and what he found crumbled him. He stood there over, the love of his life with bloody marks gouges on his hands and wrist as if someone had tried to fight him off. He found blood smeared into his shirt and knew in that instant it was hers. In his other hand still dripping was a knife. A knife that had not just her blood on it but meat and tissue hanging off of it. He threw the knife as it dawned on him he had killed her, he was the monster that had penetrated his inner sanctum and butchered his wife.

With no memory of the incident, he couldn’t figure out why? Why would he have done this? What would possess a seemingly normal man to murder the love of his life? Confused and heartbroken he backed away slowly, hearing a laughter in his head he had never heard before, A person that loved the idea of killing, a person that wanted to kill again, someone that thirsted for her blood and still craved it even after her life had left her.

This was the first time Adam realized he was more than what he thought he was. This was the first time he had met his dark side. He knew anyone was capable of such atrocities it just took a certain kind to be able to go through with it. This was his first kill and in that moment the sudden sense of pleasure that washed over him at the thought of watching the life drain out of his perfect wife he knew it wouldn’t be his last. As he sobered up and did away with the murder weapon and made his wife and all evidence disappear a sort of peace he had never felt before settled over him like a warm blanket.

Ten years later, and he always knew when that certain itch was upon him he always knew when it was time to find his next victim. It always started with the damned dreams. The dreams of her with her pretty blonde hair matted with blood. Her perfectly rounded figure reduced to nothing more than bones and meat. It saddened him and at the same time, it gave him a purpose in a world gone mad. It was a good thing he was good looking all these whores flaunted themselves at him regardless of his off-putting demeanor. There were always plenty of victims flocking to his door. Case in point the woman in his bed at this very moment.

He woke with a start and knew it was time. It was his moment to shine. He looked over at the brunette sleeping so peacefully. He smiled with a glimmer in his eyes. This was way too easy like shooting fish in a barrel easy. He almost felt sorry for her as he raised his knife in the air…


The day he died he died for us. It was the plan and yet, it was also the worst humanity had to offer. It was a death that should never have been but he did it anyway. He died for my sins so I could be washed clean of all my wrongdoings and start anew. He died for me, for you, for your sister, your brother, your mother, your father, everyone. He died by the hands of the very souls he was trying to save.  He died a brutal death one of pain, suffering, and agony, and yet he stayed. He could have climbed down that cross at any moment and simply said I have had enough. Yet, he knew the plan even when we couldn’t see it for ourselves and he stayed. He knew his death was imminent and still, he stayed. I wonder if he regrets, his actions as he looks down upon mankind now, at how far we have fallen since that fateful day so long ago. I wonder does he regret it,  I guess only time will tell.

How can you say you love me? When all you seem to do is bitch and moan about my very existence. This supposed love you say you have for me. Feels more like torture than anything resembling love. Your touch on my skin feels like death awaiting me. You talk as if I am nothing to you. Not the miracle God chose to give to you. You haven’t earned the title given to you called mother. You have crushed my spirits one too many times. You have broken my dreams on too many occasions. Now here you sit no children to care for you no grandchildren to fill your home with laughter. No one to hold your hand in your final days. Do you regret the choices you’ve made, I guess only time will tell.

I am grown and I have been through it, life that is. Every choice I have made, ever step I have taken has gotten me here. Some of them bad, some of them good, and yet there is that part of me that still sees what she saw the daughter of no one, the empress of nothing. Then there is the part of me that he sees the man that died for my sins the man that went through the ultimate sacrifice for me. I realize I may not be the daughter she wants but I am the daughter he loves. The dark cloud of my past may haunt me forever, but the fact that it didn’t break me and I held fast to his love in my darkest hours comforts me. Will the ghost of my past haunt me forever or will the pain of lost love finally ebb, I guess only time will tell.




I have  been writing so much about my past that I have neglected to talk about my present and all the wonders it has held for me. Since my first book hit the best-seller list five years ago my life has been filled with book tours, fans and more writing. It is enough to make a girl of only thirty swoon. This is the first vacation I have actually taken since then and what am I doing you guessed it writing. Fame isn’t what I thought it would be I thought “yay now I am rich I can relax”, but no, I had to write one book after another just to stay on that “best seller” list. I am exhausted. It is a never-ending fight to be the one on top all the time. So when my best friend suggested I stay at her house in Maine while she went to the Bahamas for the winter I couldn’t pass it up.

Never having been here I am loving the mountains of snow and the isolation. It is just the thing I needed since I can’t even remember the last time I was alone. I ran into the neighbor this morning and she offered to show me around town later in the week. She even invited me to the local “dive bar” her words not mine. She called it MYSTIC RED. As a writer, I was not only intrigued by the fact that she called it a dive bar but the name Mystic Red. There is a story there and I intend to find out who names their bar Mystic Red.

Is it some sort of sacred name someone’s great, great, great grandfather named it? I feel as a writer I can construct an entire story on the name alone. Is it some sort of mystical name? Is this bar indeed Mystical? I am picturing one of those hole in the walls with license plates on the walls as the room decor. I see the bar itself soaked with stale beer and cheap glasses. The bartender probably some overweight ner do well. His bartending job was a “second chance” after he got early, release on parole for good behavior.

Maybe I am just being a snob here but when someone says “dive bar” as being the sole entertainment in a small town. That is what I picture. Maybe I am wrong, maybe it is a hidden treasure that will exceed all my expectations. I can’t wait to go and mingle with the simple town folk as Marta called them.

I gaze out the window and see that the snow is falling once more. It seems to never stop once winter hits in this tiny town. Peaceful in its blinding whiteness. I get the feeling that something is about to happen. I don’t know what but the writer in me is intrigued at all the possibilities. I am here for another three months I might as well enjoy it while I can. No matter what happens I will have pen and paper at the ready. I can hardly contain myself waiting for Mystic Red…






It is Winter. There is no snow yet the temperature continues to drop day by agonizing day. I can smell it in the wind and it is just a matter of time before the white stuff shows it’s fury.The witching hour is upon me and as I gaze outside I can see the frozen barren land clearly under the full moonlight.

The moon is so full and bright it almost appears as daytime in the wake of the late hour. The infertile trees shadow plays upon the ground taking on a skeletal hue with their inky blackness. Looming across the landscape as if they are trying to escape the bitterness that is Winter.

It is a beautiful sight in its eeriness. I half expect a zombie or a werewolf to come charging across the yard but alas, I know they too (if they were real) would be smart enough to stay out of this cold.

It is late and I am tired yet, the call of this cold night and all its splendor almost has me reaching for the door, almost. I just stare for what seems like an eternity through the window at the beauty I am capturing in my mind for later and how I feel in this moment.

All alone I feel a kinship with those lifeless shadows and for one brief moment, the trees and I are one. I feel their sadness, their pain, their lifelessness. I have been there I have felt sadness, pain, and most of all a lifelessness I can’t explain.

I am touched by those shadows and the eternal light that now shines upon them showing all of their flaws, their imperfections, their brokenness and yet they still stand tall and proud.

I take a snapshot of them in my mind as I silently scream at Winter for she has taken their life and with it all the beauty they once possessed. Yet, they are not ashamed they sprawl across my lawn knowing who they are? What they are? Casting beautiful shadows even in death. They know they will be alive again that the seasons will change and they will once again rise to greatness.

I guess that is the thing we all need to take from these trees. No matter how broken we are during the (Winter) just remember the seasons will change and we will once again be alive and beautiful …



The PANOPLY of severed body parts decorated the trophy case from end to end. Detective Morgan Smith had never seen such a site in all her life. Spending the last ten years climbing the ladder making detective just over three years ago, the youngest female to do so in the precinct she has seen some stuff but this, this was a nightmare.

Taking up one entire wall of the small bungalow. It was by all accounts the most impressive display Morgan had ever seen. Stepping closer to the case she ran her gloved finger over the shelf just above a severed ear pinned to a cork board. Opening the cabinet the bile instantly rose to her throat the second the scent of rotting flesh hit and burned her nostrils. Closing the door and stepping away from the case she coughed slightly getting her gag reflex under control. She barked out orders about dusting for prints and getting everything bagged and tagged for evidence.

As she stepped outside and into the sunshine to get some fresh air. Out of the room of horrors the air no longer stale and stifling. She gulped in large quantities of it as if she were drowning in it. The smell of rotten flesh now signed into her nose she couldn’t  help but wonder of the vile smell would ever dissipate.

Once she had control a white hot rage started to simmer within the pit of her stomach. They now knew who this guy was judging by the id’s left behind. Just because he got away this time didn’t mean she wouldn’t catch him. The atrocities this psycho has committed. She shuttered at the memory of  his “trophies”. That image she knew, would never be able to be erased from her mind. One way or another she would catch this bastard and bring him to justice. Detective Morgan Smith always got her man. This sick predator just became her prey…

Heath watched with a suspicious  eye from across the street as the cops swarmed his house. How the hell they even found him was a mystery. He had been playing cat and mouse with the law for the better part of two decades. Always outsmarting the pigs. Always one step ahead of them. He was proud of his cunning to outwit and outrun them and his fifth-grade teacher said he would never amount to anything. Ha! Look at him now. He watched through the window as they began to fondle his trophies. A white hot rage began to simmer in the pit of his stomach. How dare they touch his hard earned collection!

The monster inside of him began to stir with a vengeance. The need to maim or kill becoming almost overwhelming. Maniacal laughter escaped him as he was whisked back to an earlier memory. Psycho, Crazy, Lunatic. these were the names his very own shrink that he was court ordered to see at the tender age of sixteen called had called him.

He knew from a very young age that he was different. Even by the time he reached the age of twelve he had already collected his first of many collections to come animal pelts. He now found it ironic that the one person that was supposed to fix him had actually helped him progress his wants, his desires, his needs.

She was his very first kill! He could still feel her blonde hair brush his cheek as he choked her from behind. He could still smell her sickening sweet perfume. He could still taste her blood he had slowly licked off his fingers one by one after he had slit her throat just to watch her bleed. It hadn’t mattered she was already dead. Shaking himself out of the past memory he licked his lips as if he could still taste her essence. He looked down to see his now bulging erection. He had never had a problem getting it up all he ever needed to do was think of Laura. Ah, Laura and her blonde hair.

A gleam of light caught his eyes in the dappled sunlight. He looked out the window again to see the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. A pair of diamond earrings glinting in the sun attached to the most splendid display of earlobes he had ever seen. Perfect in shaped not too big not to small they were breathtaking. After drooling over the ears for what seemed like an eternity he finally gazed at the face of a female detective looking like she was trying to breath in the tiny front yard of his sanctuary. With her brunette hair pulled into a high ponytail it was as if she was showing off those decadent lobes just for him. An evil grin spread over his face as he began to plot and plan.

Patting himself on the back once again for his borrowed fingerprints  and his identification of a dead man left in the house he knew this perky cop would be chasing a ghost, forever! He almost felt sorry for her thinking she was closing in on her prey, almost.

Now he could do what he did best disappear and in a few months pop back up where this little minx least expected. This was gonna be way too easy , like taking candy from a baby or her ears off her pretty little head. She would be the first in his new collection. Let the games begin…

<a href=””>Panoply</a&gt;


I have been in love with this song ever since I heard it on the hit tv show NOTORIOUS and then  on the hit show LUCIFER and then it showed up in the hit show SUPERGIRL all in the same week which is great. Here are the lyrics to this song:

Way Down We Go
Father tell me, we get what we deserve
Oh we get what we deserve
And way down we go
Way down we go
Say way down we go
Way down we go
You let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all oh, go down
Yeah but for the fall oh, my
Do you dare to look him right in the eyes?
‘Cause they will run you down, down til the dark
Yes and they will run you down, down til you fall
And they will run you down, down til you go
Yeah so you can’t crawl no more
And way down we go
Way down…
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          There is more on youtube but this is the gist of this song. It has become my new favorite song and for some reason whether it be the actual lyrics or the tone of the music itself. Yet for some reason, it is haunting me as well. Do we really get what we deserve?  If so what the hell have I done? I question everything when I hear this song. A plethora of questions arise yet, I listen to it anyway. There is some truth in those lyrics as I know that they will run you down till you fall. Or be on the brink of falling before I continuously keep from falling fully into the abyss that just happened to be my life. “Time has come as we all fall Oh down!” Where are we falling into ourselves, are giving up as we let the demons that plagued is for so long finally win.
   “For the fall oh, my do you dare to look him right in the eyes?” Is this the part where I am supposed to be terrified of the fall as if in a dream if you die in the dream you die in real life. Well I am no longer scared of the fall. Let me fall into the abyss and see where I land.
   I viewed this song as a religious song at first. Yet, the more I listen to it the more I am proud of the fact that despite my past I never fell! I never gave up and I never turned to the dark side to where I needed to crawl. I just picked myself up and kept going. I am made of stronger stock than even I once imagined and no one not even the demons that still haunt me can take that away from me. So way down we may go but it is our rise to the occasion that matters. So bring on your sultry voice and your haunting words. I’m ready to take on this hauntingly beautiful song…