Tuesday, November 13, 2012

"Safer In My Own Skin" by Ronn E Taylor


        You've never loved Someone so deeply until they've
 consumed your entire being like a fine mist, covering every inch of
your nakedness.  You absorbed them in every pore, they live inside and underneath your skin

Their presence is so heavy in your life, that suddenly when they left your life, the entire atmosphere around you decompressed.  Making it difficult to breathe the imaginary sunshine, that surrounded them.  You ever loved like that?

When they leave your life, whether known to them, they take a part of you with them.  Doesn't matter how small or minuscule,but its a piece of you that you can never have again.   

Soon over time, others will come to carry away even more pieces until you're left a hollow shell.  Slowly reduced to be defined as a 'once' or 'other'.  You're never the same and can never be what you were

She was sun in my eyes.  I looked too hard, too deeply.   Now I'm blind.  Vision impaired, I've learned to embrace the subtle shades and shifting shadows of objects of past affections.  Hobbling about with mortal wounds seeping blood of optimism.  How was I made, to perish this way?  

We're all composed of odd textures and strange angles.  Constrictive shapes and harsh colors.  It was far easier to love the rough, wry edges of her, than to forgive the smooth, narrow lines that defined her.  Inside of her existed my beautiful place.  Aborted by the world and reborn inside of her, we slipped beyond our tainted selves, upside down inside the world.  Grasping tightly to anything resembling reason to keep from falling through the sky and being consumed in the heat of the sun.  

Love is insanity, a deranged arrangement; the struggle between passion and pride.  Outside of the self, exposed to harm and shame.  Free of control, free to fall apart and to re-assemble into a broken narrative.  a fragile sentence left to dangle wildly at the end of a quizzical paragraph.  I am now, the silence between the words.  Taking refuge in plain sight of the conversation without any obligation to define or struggle for clarity.  To withhold thought, to withhold opinion

I've abandoned that beautiful place inside of her, to wonder aimlessly.  I suppose inside every woman  exists a beautiful place.  However, now I prefer..the dry lands.  Nurtured from the stones and dust, wind nibbling feverishly upon the old bones of lovers from long ago.  I am determined to lick the very parasites from them that still contains particles of my DNA.  Maybe I can never be whole or what I once was.  But what I was, shall rest with me, not them. 

I have concluded, that no where is safer than the space of my own mind, the warmth of my own heart and the comfort of my own bed.  Fractured, yet whole, safely inside, my own skin..

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

To Book or eBook: Really?

Being a writer is..AWESOME!!!  Yep!  Sure I don't have the gravy to pour over the 'meat'
yet(Um, yeah, I just came up with this one), but who cares?!  My work is in print(OK, granted it's a short story), but I'm anticipating the release of at least two novels, early  next year.
Strange thing tho, when my short story,"Evelyn Thayer" was only available for Kindle, no
one I knew, (except a few close friends) seem to even care.

Honestly, interest in my short story didn't really peak for me, until it became available in print.
Seriously!  This phenomenon isn't just lost on me apparently.   A few fellow authors I have
become close with, have expressed joy, in having their work featured in an anthology, now available in print.  Once again, we're talking about short stories, mind you.  However, had it NOT been for a publisher specializing primarily in eBooks(Etopia Press), I wouldn't be a published author.

We have been conditioned as a society to embrace the tangible form of the printed word.  A book.
E-Books may well be the future and even more profitable for unknown authors, but nothing beats the feel and smell of a book.  Paperback or hardcover, the very placement
of it upon a coffee table speaks volumes.

I won't lie, it was a little disheartening to hear "I'll wait until it comes out in print", after informing others about the availability of my work as an eBook.   It was almost as if they were saying, "I won't call you an author, until I'm holding a book, with your name
attached to it".

Let's be honest, shall we?  There isn't an author whose first work was published as an eBook,
wasn't a little 'giddy' once holding a physical book of their work in hand.  I was(Pssshhh..
I'm still riding that cloud). Call it preference or conditioning, however, that has to change.
As authors, we can't expect the masses to run out and buy Kindles just to read our work.  Yet,
on the other hand, the masses can't expect to only find good, quality and creative work,
in paperback or hardcover.

The masses need to give eBooks and their authors the same look, as they would the
paperbacks on the racks of Walmart or Target.  And we authors, have to learn to
be more patient with e Publishers, who believed in our work enough, to put money
behind it.  YES!  Publishing eBooks cost both time and money.

I'm not advocating one form over the other, just simply pointing out, that both can co-exist.
I applaud the authors who use social media to promote the works available as eBooks.
Hopefully one day, rather your work was published first online or in paperback, the thrill
of being an author, won't change.  :)

Monday, September 17, 2012

Julia Kavan

'Dreaming, not Sleeping' by Julia Kavan,  is just one of twelve great short stories included in the horror anthology 'Touched by Darkness'.   Julia's story is haunting and I like it a lot.  There are other wonderful stories in the collection as well.  Also, be sure to check out her blog(link provided below) where I and others share our favorite short stories.   Don't forget you can pick up Julia's story or the entire collection which includes 'Evelyn Thayer' @ Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble and OmniLit.com

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Excerpt from "Evelyn Thayer" published by Etopia Press.

      She dipped her hands in the sudsy water, feeling around for the loose silverware on the bottom of the sink. Placing them one by one onto a freshly cleaned linen towel to dry, lined up like soldiers off to assist in satisfying the appetites of the day. Counting the air-dried forks, spoons, and knives with her eyes, continuing to feel around in the sink as water sloshed onto her ankle length, candy stripe socks. Slowly pulling her hands from the water with a steak knife in her right hand. It was her favorite, easily distinguishable from the others by a missing screw that held the plastic handle the the stainless steel blade. 
The table accessory had been to her what a Swiss army knife was to a Marine. After careful inspection, she held it up to her usual sullen scowl. The crow’s feet around her eyes stretched further along her face. The knife was missing its tip. She hadn't noticed it before.
She felt a slight sting in her chest, a most inappropriate reaction for such a common object. Tears spilled down her face like fresh rain over a cracked desert floor. With damp hands, she brushed
the tears away as if they were insects crawling on her skin. The clock on the stove read quarter to ten. Margret would be over for breakfast soon. She had invited her over an hour ago. She set the table for two, walked over to the refrigerator, and grabbed a fresh carton of eggs. She reached for something in an unconventional wrapping along with a tube of Italian sausage and some onions, green peppers, and mushrooms. After sautéing her vegetables, she added her egg mixture. A few minutes later, everything was ready. 
There was a knock on the kitchen door. It was Margret. "Something sure does smell good, Evelyn" she said, hugging her curmudgeonly host. Evelyn haphazardly slung an arm around Margret's back and got a face full of her well-styled hair. It smelled amazing! Who in the hell gets all gussied up just to have breakfast? Evelyn thought. The bleached-blond Margret Smalls did. I bet all the girls wanted to be friends with her back in high school. Her nails and makeup were always flawless. Her ample breasts were more apparent now days. The “girls” needed little assistance from the rather pricey bras she probably wore. Rumor from the scamps around the crochet circle was that some slob bought her a new pair of boobs, as if she needed them. 
“Is Bill still here?" Margret inquired. Evelyn frowned. "Bill?"
Margret pointed with her well-manicured thumb towards the driveway. 
"Yeah, his truck is still parked outside. I thought he usually works on Saturdays." 
"His truck," Evelyn whispered, focusing on the door. She looked from the door back to a statue-like Margret, then held her head down as she brushed past to the stove. 
"He's sleeping in today," she mumbled.
 "Oh." Margret raised her tattooed eyebrows and slowly closed the door. She pulled a chair from the table to sit down, pitying Evelyn's roadside-diner-like attire with her eyes. “Evelyn, are you OK? You seem a little frazzled this morning.” 
Evelyn gazed into the gaunt set of eyes reflected in the silver coffee pot while she poured Margret a cup. "Yeah, I'm fine. Didn’t sleep much last night. Damn dog next door." Margaret poured cream and sugar into her coffee. "Well, I didn't hear a thing. I usually sleep like a baby." Evelyn rolled her eyes. Dumb bitch. Babies don't sleep soundly at night. She prepared a plate of scrambled eggs for Margret, then placed them in front of her. She sat down across the table. A plate absent of food lay untouched in front of the rather aloof Evelyn. She was having just a cup of coffee. Margret eyed her fork; the obvious hadn't escaped her. 
"You're not having anything?"
Evelyn placed loose strands of her hair behind her ear, looking a bit uncomfortable.
 "Later. I'm still trying to shake the cobwebs loose" Margret managed a smile through the masked tension, and picked up the fork from the table.
      Taking a careful sip of coffee, Evelyn's eyes fixed on Margret’s fork. She barely breathed as she watched the fork dig into the eggs, pause a bit, then carry them to the moist, lip-sticked lips of the twice-divorced diva. Strands of Evelyn's hair hung like graying drapes in her eyes, obscuring the harsh glare of contempt as her wrinkled lips part slightly. "Mmm," Margret moaned, closing her eyes and savoring the eggs as a slow menacing grin spread like corrosion beneath the long, unattractive nose of Evelyn Thayer. "Oh my God, Evelyn, these eggs are delicious.” Slowly Evelyn ran her tongue over her dry, chapped lips. "It's no wonder why Bill's been putting on so much weight," Margret laughed, bringing a genuine smile from Evelyn. Her eyes relished the motion of Margret's perfectly squared jaw, fascinated with every morsel of food her buxom dining guest swallowed. Margaret chewed her food slowly, visibly taken by the flavors that tumbled over her tongue. She stabbed at the brown bits with her fork. "What type of sausage is this? It's wonderful."
Evelyn’s eyes widened slightly. For a glimmer of a second, they appeared to hide a stifled laugh. She lowered her cup of coffee to the table and whisked strands of hair from her eyes. "It's homemade, from my sister and her husband." "Speaking of which, are they still interested in some land down in Monroe? I've acquired some from my divorce and I'm looking to sell, if I can get a pretty good offer for it.” Evelyn brushed her graying hair with her hand. 
"I don't keep up with their finances," she offered with a harsh glare. "But I'll ask the next time I speak with them.” Money, that's all she cares about. What’s wrong Margret? Running low on funds for your lavish lifestyle? Her recent divorce from second husband Peter had left her well off. He had owned a successful construction company, but after the divorce, she owned a large stake in it, along with two of the four homes he owned and six hundred thousand dollars from a savings account. But Peter should have known better. He was god awful ugly; he should have known that someone as pretty as Margret was only interested in his money. Margaret was talking, but Evelyn had stopped listening.
With her eyes she enviously fondled Margret's breasts, which bounced with each breath and jiggled from her slightest movements. Evelyn took note of how Margret leaned in toward the table as she spoke. Apparently it was a force of habit, probably
something she did often while conversing with men, offering a peek at her deep cleavage in her low cut blouses. Not a man on earth could resist the witty musings that spilled from her self-indulgent head like candy from a busted piñata. She was an honest hard working woman's greatest nightmare. A man would trade in a clean home and hot meals for a woman like her any day. She spoke with her hands. They were soft, delicate. They seemed regal, never allowed to hold or touch the tools of the commoner. Evelyn's eyes fell upon her own rough and worn hands holding the coffee mug and clasped them neatly in her lap, frowning upon them like way-ward children. A woman shouldn't have unattractive hands like a man.
 Margret had never worked, had never had a real job, unless you considered swinging around from a pole an occupation. A fool with money didn't stand a chance against the cunning charms of the sultry temptress. She was slutty enough to bait them, but too cleaver to be considered a whore. You either admired or hated a woman like Margret; but whatever you did, you never left her alone with your husband. That is, if he was successful.
Now she understood why after all these years she didn't have any women friends. They talked too damn much! Damn, woman! Breathe! A simple invitation for breakfast was turning into the torturous rants of a narcissist. 
Every so often, between the hopeful elusive pauses in the conversation, Evelyn
found herself glancing at the clock. 11:00. Time couldn't move fast enough. Margret wasn't educated, but she had managed to turn ignorance into an appealing charm. Men loved women who posed no threat to their sense of superiority. It was one thing to be beautiful, but it was another to be beautiful and street smart. If she had been frugal in any way it was in retaining the second hand knowledge that she stored. If a guy was a bank manager then suddenly she was an expert on mortgage rates. For her, wisdom must have rested on the tips of the many cocks she blew. Obviously for the former stripper, it was the fastest way to transmit the vast knowledge that successful men possessed. She was a locust; she used every inch and centimeter of a man's mind, body, and soul before moving on to the next. Evelyn recalled how she had taken a sudden interest in cement work, telling Bill how she could take his cement company nationwide. Idiot! He actually believed she knew what the hell she was talking about. Why are men so damn stupid? The sound of her fork being placed onto the empty plate brought Evelyn's mind back to center. Margret carefully dabbed her mouth with a napkin. 
"Evelyn Thayer, that was delicious," she said, smiling over at her not-so-sociable host, who held her cup with both hands now and simply nodded. "Glad you enjoyed it.”
The chair scrapped against the linoleum floor as Margret stood up. "I have to get going" reaching into her expensive handbag for her Louie Vuitton sunglasses. Evelyn stood up and neatly brushed the crinkles from her apron. "You have to let me take you out for breakfast sometime." Margaret smiled. It was a kind gesture that Evelyn had not anticipated, which inspired a rare softness in her usually stony veneer. Her rough hands were folded courteously in front of her like a waitress. She willed herself to smile. "A cup of coffee will do just fine." After another uncomfortable hug, Margret Smalls left. But the smell of her perfume still lingered in the small kitchen. It reminded Evelyn of something, and Evelyn’s attempt at a smile was soon washed away. Standing over the stove with a fork, she meticulously removed pieces of sausage from the skillet. Stealthily placed them in a napkin then inside the pouch of her apron. Cleared the table, and placed the plate and cups in the empty sink before heading up stairs.

Click the links below to Purchase.

On sale Now @ Amazon.com 


Touched by Darkness

"Evelyn Thayer" is also a part of
this fantastic collection of dark tales of Evil.
Available Friday, Sept 14th for download through Amazon.com, B&N and
Romance e-Book.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Evelyn Thayer

"Evelyn haphazardly slung an arm around Margret's back and got a face full of her well-styled
hair.  It smelled amazing!  Who in the hell gets all gussied up just to have breakfast? Evelyn
thought.  The bleach-blond Margret Smalls did." Excerpt from "Evelyn Thayer".

Available Sept 14th on Amazon.com, B&N, Romance e-Books. Etopia Press. 

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

The Baptism


The winds have licked the flames from underneath me,
 sending me crashing towards the earth, 
free falling and tumbling sideways.  Oh Lord, shall I be baptized?

Just as gravity holds the Earth in place, there was nothing 
 inside of me that was the center of my universe.
 The object of my deepest affections shrunk the view of everything that surrounded her. 
The delusion was that time stood still, the reality however, was that I had stopped progressing.

Understand that all joy is no mystery. The discovery for you is the misery of another. 

The space between a smile and a frown, is a day. Gladness of heart is not a remedy for sorrow.
 It has no remedy. It mourns beneath your temporal joy and sleeps during moments of laughter. 

What can the heart give in exchange for its sorrow? To eyes, tears.

 To the lips, a quiver. When the heart dies the spirit mourns. This is sorrow. 
Oh Lord, shall I be baptized?

I fell backwards into you.

free-falling sideways into a destructive bliss
as the sky fell from before me and the ocean moved underneath
to receive this shell.

The weight of your presence added momentum to my fall.
any moment now and I shall be baptized.
Maybe in a lucid dream the world ends. 
The sea spins and clouds are chased away by air that's thin. Angel's sing "smile in your sleep.
Dance in your madness.
Cry in your joy. 
When morning dawns, misery begins".

We were an augmented melody with confusing lyrics.
you made me so damn dizzy, intoxicated.  

Unpredictable, laughter and tears.
Fingers pricked by thorns, blood on the petals.
I knew the risk, a flower never meant to be handled so foolishly.

You were my breath and I held you until I could breathe
no more. I died in you yet you could not live inside me.

I lick my lips tasting your last kiss a new.
Closed my tear stained eyes as the smell of the sea
danced under my nose. I whispered a prayer and 

as I stood on the cliff.   I fell.

The fall was exquisite, the anticipated crash will be beautiful.

God forgive, that I cannot forgive.
Forgive what is most unforgivable.

Receive what is left of me o great sea.
Wash my remains upon the shores of time,
bring with me my wayward footprints left in the sand.
One last look at the sun.  One last wish from my lips.

Fall unto me my salvation.

Falling faster still and then....
baptism. I
 was cleansed by the truth of you.  

The parable of us, 

"And when all is said of love and dreams, the dream it's self arouses from sleep.

The bliss we imagined for self will teach,
That nothing in life is truly pure or sweet". 

I have been baptized..


Monday, August 13, 2012

Last 'Hello'

    We'll pretend that by strange coincidence, we have arrived at this familiar place once again.
We'll pretend that sadness is truly joy and that this unexpected meeting is 'good'.   This is the circle we have come together briefly to complete.  What began, now ends.

We'll discuss the small, the trivial.  Avoiding like sickness the more relevant, detailed morsels of our forward singular progression without the other.  We'll pretend that a familiar smile now offers nothing more, than a casual 'welcome'.  Un-chained from our dialogue are the words that pulled and pushed us together, then apart.  I'll even foolishly pretend that my heart is un-chained from yours.  But inside, the links cannot be broken.

We'll pretend that life is normal.  With a kind smile we'll separate, honoring the space we have reserved for another.  As I slowly turn to walk away I'll lie.  Telling myself that it wasn't as difficult as I had assumed it would be.  However strange, yet stranger still, I will be convinced that you felt the same.  We'll walk away, maybe to never see the face of the other again.  I won't look back.  Because I'll know, you won't look back.

Somewhere I'll get lost in the crowd.  Lost inside of me once again, the question of you.  The pendulum has swung, forever are we lost in the tension of it's silence.  I'll take with me all that you were, yet sadden that I will never have the chance to embrace, all that you'll be.  However I'm sure as we disappear into the business of life, we'll pretend not to remember us or moments etched in our hearts.  Your warm smile, your gentle laugh.  The beauty of the ocean that day and our foot prints we left behind in the sand.  As I turn the corner in the brisk air, I'll only be reminded that winter, is coming soon.  But winter, is here.

Sunday, August 12, 2012

'At first sight'.

We see what we want to see.  A desire reflected back onto ourselves.
A beautiful woman.  A desirable vixen.  An honest heart.  We are conditioned to
 be swayed by the totality of a simple glance.  We imagine that nothing as fragile as beauty
can bring us any harm.  We imagine that the petals of all delicate flowers are the envy of our hands.
We are eager to kiss lips whether they fashion lies or spit into the face of others.

We long to search eyes that are short of sight and void of vision.  However, the most sinister
of us all hide behind the beauty of opulence and majesty.  The greatest evil is the death
that hides in a kiss.  The most poisonous venom is in kind words that renders us helpless,
unable to fight off the jaws that open wide to consume us.  A willing prey requires little effort
for a cunning predator.  We are willing to ignore the fangs concealed by a smile.

The devil isn't a monster.  No, but a wonderful tree with pleasurable fruit hanging from its limbs.
A rotten tree with rotten fruit is the home of flies, not beautiful creatures.
What resides within the heart, attracts what rests outside of it.

 The prize of the eyes are the reward of the heart.
 What the eyes drink in, the heart shall have its fill.  Pay homage to vanity and grasp the air. Pay homage to modesty and the wind of grace shall dance underneath your wings.
Lifting you to heights were passion cannot.  Inspiring the heart to compose lyrics that kisses

We see what we want to see, until it is too late.  A broken heart is the result of careless eyes.
Drinking in much, but understanding little.  We attribute no crimes to beauty.  Her alibi is the
innocence we give to it.  We attribute to it truth, honesty and grace.  Beauty isn't in the eye
of the beholder but in the heart, of the fool.   We see a beautiful woman, but in reality, a murderer who happens to be, beautiful.  We see soft loving eyes, but in truth, they mask a harsh unforgiving heart.
We see wonderful full lips, but honesty is not the language they speak.

If the eyes sail upon many waters, it shall return to the heart empty treasures.  May your heart set
a course for singleness of sight.

Thursday, August 9, 2012


I wanted to make you beautiful.  Not the superficial stuff of models and horny teenage boys wet dreams.  But a small ray of sun light peeking through a gloomy sky.  But the 'pen' was mightier than me.  I imagined that as a child you weren't loved much, if at all.   Nothing fancy about the plain way you were your hair in high school or the thrift store clothes you were unmercifully teased for wearing.  You came from very little and was given only an ounce of that for yourself.

I wanted you to be my pain and anguish personified.  Perhaps you could represent what I have always so desperately tried to conceal about myself.  I made you a woman who bore the physical description of the ugliness I carried around in myself.  The self loathing of wasted opportunities, the stress of that appearing as a 'scowl' etched upon your face.  That scowl, I carried in my heart.  I gave that to you so that I no longer would have to carry it.  Was it fair?  Maybe.

I gave you a husband that made you his shadow.  Maybe it was wrong of me to allow you to become content with this rather pathetic arrangement.  But it was an arrangement I was most familiar with.  Loving from underneath the shadows of others.  However you took it a step further.  Further than even what I had anticipated.  You became his slave, his maid.  All the while, I was hoping that you would break free and leave with your dignity intact.  I was hoping you would prevail where I had not.  That you would reach deep inside of yourself and pull what was most important to your own personal survival.

However you allowed the bitterness and pain gut the inside of an otherwise kind and generous heart.  And then, she appeared.  She was everything that you weren't and never could be, Evelyn.  She was, beautiful.  But on the inside, she was a rotten bitch.  And you saw that, Evelyn.   The consequences of it all I was hoping you would avoid.  Maybe, I was very naive to assume that what took place came without consequences.  Maybe somewhere deep down, I was hoping that like me, you would just swallow that huge ball of pain and hide it in your heart.  The only consequences suffered, would be to your own self-esteem.  But I was wrong.  Sorry isn't enough.  However, know this Evelyn Thayer.  I never intended for you to be what you became.  I only wanted to make you truly, beautiful.