I write in many different Genres: Fantasy, Romance, some YA, Poetry, and Creative nonfiction. I write more short stories and poetry than full length novels. The following are snippets from each category. You do not have the right to copy or reproduce anything on this page without my permission.
Creative nonfiction:
Taken from a a piece called "Rooms"
I weighed 86 lbs when I turned 27 years old and I was afraid to die…
The walls in the room hold two pictures of angels with roses, each pointing their soft curls towards each other as if the place wants me to feel safe even though I’m only dressed in a thin cloth. The metal sink’s open mouth seems to laugh at my predicament, as if I shouldn’t have come in the first place. A simple black plastic chair sits beside the platform bed. It strangely comforts me, perhaps because I know under normal conditions someone would be sitting in that chair holding my hand.
The fear of not waking up from the medication envelops my thoughts. The knowledge that if I die on the operating table my children would have no mother screams, like a wailing banshee. The alternative is unbearable; the pain will eat me from within like a gluttonous vampire feasting on my insides. The walls close in on me, to confine me in this empty shell. The cloth sticks to my body. Even the platform bed is opposed to the flesh on my back, as if it knows I am alone in the room, it contorts to a hard surface. The small pillow is rough, growling in my ear as I move my head to look back at the seraphic pictures on the wall. They wilt into fallen angels.
The air coats my small body in a frigid wrapper. I place my hands under my back to keep them warm. The fan kicks on from the ceiling and a stale draft drifts between my legs. I shiver at the delicate touch of the air’s fingertips. My toes are ice-cold when I sit up and place them Indian style under my legs. From the high point of the bed, I can see the white marble textured floor. It’s glazed over, letting my deformed reflection stare back at me, asking how much longer I must wait. My heart pounds in my chest as I hear feet scuffle across the floor. The door blocks everyone from view and the light from the ceiling flickers. The door’s small silver handle turns slowly, as if relishing in my anticipation, and I think back to how I got here.
Poetry:
Jena
I saw a big round human once,
as white as fresh dropped snow,
with dark brown eyes and an orange nose.
I flew to say hello.
His arms extended from his sides
like branches on a tree.
My friends watched on with silly grins,
he would not speak to me.
I fluttered 'round his face once more,
to give a little show-
And then my friends called out to me,
the man was made of snow.
I saw a big round human once,
as white as fresh dropped snow,
with dark brown eyes and an orange nose.
I flew to say hello.
His arms extended from his sides
like branches on a tree.
My friends watched on with silly grins,
he would not speak to me.
I fluttered 'round his face once more,
to give a little show-
And then my friends called out to me,
the man was made of snow.
**If you would like another sample of my poetry please feel free to look at my published piece which is a more adult work called Whiskey Kisses.
Fantasy:
From a short story called "Mind Fairy"
"You have fairies in Lament? At this Lament?" Carla asked surprised.
"Yes, but the fairies here help. They don't hurt like this mind fairy. She won’t tell me her name yet. But, I believe it starts with an S. All fairies talk with the beginning of their names. She slithers her words, like a snake."
"How am I going to help you? What do you need me to do?" Carla was sure he was crazy now, how could she possibly help someone like him. She knew nothing about him. Playing along seemed right though.
"You need to speak with your sister."
"Why? She has a fairy?" Carla asked putting the files in her lap to look up at Charles.
"Yes. I'm not sure which one. She knows. I think it is helping her with her brain. I have noticed fairy patterns in her. Like the sifting. She sifts through everything she can get her hands on. People do this when a fairy has found them and wants to know something of this world. She is sifting through medical books from the library. Doctors call it obsessive compulsive."
YA-Fantasy
From the short story called "Black Diamond City"
“Travel to my black diamond archway,
Into the land of the future and past.
Bow down before the Emerald princess,
Be careful of shadows the light may cast.
Run through the moon meadows of the forgotten
Creature whom dwells within.
Travel high in its hills of mourning,
Be prepared to face the unknown sin.”
Sharax turned to the North and watched the two moons drift below the horizon from her perch on the building. One moon shone brilliant hues of purple and blue, the other silver and white. Together they cast an enchanting mixture over the Black Diamond Arch. The silver caressed the top of the dark angel’s wings as if plated by the moon. The rest of the sculpted arch was wrapped in black with hints of feline demons moving from the arch, resting dark thick paws on the ground ready to take over Diamond City in the wake of the black sun. The dark angel’s wings sparkled to life as the black sun rose to the south.
"Emerald princess, come before me." The dark angel’s voice whispered in the breeze. Sharax spread her emerald butterfly wings and rose to meet Perfections demand.
"Perfection, my lord, I am but a humble being." Sharax fluttered before the dark angel. His jaw was outlined in silver. His eyes of royal blue caressed her violet-feathered skin.
"I only wish to see your beauty before the black sun rises." Perfection brushed her cheek with sculpted fingers. A crimson tear rolled by and he wiped it swiftly away.
Sharax rose to the top arch of Black Diamond. Slowly the butterfly and angel switched places without breaking eye contact. Perfection levitated before her. She felt her wings stop as her bare feet instinctively gripped the arch. The familiar tingle slid through her veins encasing her wings, feathers, and finally her eyes in stone as the first dark mists of the black sun reached her body.
Romance/fantasy:
Taken from a current novel in progress called "Beyond Words"
“Howdy ma’am,” the man said in a gruff tone. Shray stared at him. Was he crazy? He could have killed her jumping over like that! She stood her full five foot and didn’t bother to look him in the eye. She needed to force anger back in its place.
“You always make an entrance like that when encountering a woman who may be in distress?” Shray asked the words through clenched teeth then managed to meet his eyes.
“Distress? I suppose I may have encountered her differently if she hadn’t just popped up on my land in the middle of a much needed run for Blaze, my horse,” he said and jumped down to eye level.
“Maybe she didn’t have a choice.” Shray glared as she watched him tip his black hat and smile with a glint in his green eyes. He probably would be handsome if she hadn’t been too angry to care. Shray crossed her arms and held her ground.
“All right, can we try again? My name is Luke, Luke Warren.” Luke held out his hand. His smile never faltered
“Shray Sate,” and she wasn‘t about to take his hand. She didn‘t know where she was, how she ended up here, and she sure as hell didn‘t know him. She turned around and plopped on the couch,
only thing familiar.
“Mrs. Sate, pleasure to meet you. I guess I‘ll be off since you don‘t seem to be in a talkin’ mood. Good day to ya.” Luke tipped his hat, pulled himself up on the horse, and clicked. The horse trotted away.
“It’s Miss Sate!” Shray yelled.
