Happy Halloween season! Great time of year where the boundary between the ordinary and supernatural feels a bit skewed. Also pumpkin spice season, changing leaves, and Over the Garden Wall just puts it over the top. October never makes me feel out of place as a horror writer. It is a great month. Free book weekends are back and moving. Every Saturday and Sunday I'll have a Kindle book up for free both of these days.

It is that time of year again for my Halloween Reading, and this year I'll be at 10K Brewing in Anoka on Tuesday (today) October 28th at 7 pm. I will be hosting the event and reading some of my work. The event is free to attend and it is the perfect way to celebrate spooky season. I'll be joined by a host of other authors, who will be reading their stories and selling books as well.

Last night was quiet. Only the Drum sounded. Nothing else challenged it. I figure anyone who had been still alive in the area besides Gerald, and I were maimed or killed in the counterattack. The radio has gone silent. Gerald was disappointed. He said even if it was repeating the same message that meant someone was behind the speaker. The idea of complete radio silence doesn’t bother me as much for some reason.

Alright, well, free book weekend is back and I'm here with my most popular book that I have. The Greenland Diaries: Days 1- 100 is my big enchilada. The grand king of my other books. It is my most popular, and it has spawned a whole series. It is FREE on the Kindle today and tomorrow. Well worth the price. …

Blue and I are looking for our window to leap. The hills will give it to us, but only for a moment. Only a few seconds will be needed. The airship continues to thunder idly. The flapping metallic sound echoes through the eves. The lethargic and strenuous hum from the machine’s twirling engines confirms that it’s not truly meant to fly.

Give me trauma on a blackboardI’ll glitter all its owls and tentaclesencircling and stamping thefreakish and rancid record wehave etched on the atoms of our reality. Afterall, we all shatter, hurt, and harm.Life is an appalling confectioner of pain.We do it minutely and majorlytying these cruel ribbonstogether over our own coffin. When the good and kind happens,

We spent the night in that Hummer. We were safe. I hated Hummers before the Drum. I thought they were selfish, gas-guzzling, and ugly. Not anymore. The monsters were all around us. Their shadows would brush against the car in the orange streetlights. The shapes moved so fast, it was hard to tell whether they were actually there. I could feel their weight shake the car frame as they brushed against it.

FREE today and tomorrow on the Kindle is my favorite book I've written, and the one I'm slowly releasing here on my blog, Beware the Ills. The book is dark fantasy, horror, steampunk, and so much more. I have revised it a bunch over the years, including recently. Get it now. Description below: For the last 30 years he has been the sole protector of the legendary Diamond Town.

Haukter survived. He survived the forest, the Ills, the winter. He has followed me here to watch, to observe. He’s a young man now, in his prime. He typically wears layers and layers of animal hides and fabrics over himself. They hang down in baggy rolls, so you can't see his form. They're black and brown in random patterns of fur.

The house did not want to be alone this long. It was two levels, with sky blue siding, white panels, and a black roof. Two large bay windows once sat over its front yard. They sandwiched a large, oak door with a brass handle. When the paned glass was still present with its translucent skin, it caught the strongest and clearest reflections of the sky and clouds.

It seems illogical to write now with the monsters and bullets. I want my voice down on paper in case the end comes. Death is watching me from every angle. Snowy is shivering. She is sitting on my knees, looking at me with those black eyes. The thunder from the bombs immobilized her. Why did I bring her? I should have left her with Gerald.

Haukter is tailing me, trying to keep pace. He will keep his distance. He’s most certainly not ready for direct confrontation. Physically, he might finally be my equal, but he can't take that chance. Whenever he truly confronts me, he will only have that one confrontation. If I were him, I would wait till I am truly distracted. It might be his only chance.

Hey all! I will be selling and signing books at Fair Trade Books in Red Wing, Minnesota on October 11th from 12 to 2 pm. I will be right in the middle of the book store. You won't be able to miss me. I will have all my books available, including the newest addition to the Greenland Diaries series. I visited Red Wing about an month ago, and had to stop by the bookstore (where I picked up a collection of William Carlos Williams poetry).

The bliss of having someone from my past in my life again was short-lived. Rick spent the night with me inside the wall. He was nervous. He was sweating profusely despite the concrete being cold. It was like being in a cave inside my own house. Our homes were nothing but skeletons of their former glory. The night passed to the constant hammer of the Drum.

I have very little possessions, no need, and no concern. My slacks are heavy black cloth, and my boots are durable and narrow. The choice of the color black for my apparel was due to the surrounding environment of trunks, branches, and trees. I'm part of that solemn army. It camouflages me quietly. I appreciate the trees. I hate them and their faces, but they’ve saved me countless times.

Big thank you to everyone who continues to support my work. I'm lucky to have been on this writing journey as long as I have been, and I couldn't do it without the help from my family, friends, and most of all you readers. I can't say it enough, but thank you for reading my writing. Communicating through narrative, whether it is fiction or poetry makes me feel like myself.

That kiss came earlyI did not go looking.It found me.The wraith was out huntingbent-ominous in the graveyardthe tallest wave in an ocean of headstones.Holding a cursed lantern of gold-wireglowing, with a trapped, underworld-embersprouting jade beams. They rattle the coffins,summon the chattering bats,and spook the clouds into a clear midnight. It did not ask me,

The counterattack is coming in two days. People have started walking through the neighborhood to assist. They’re moving down Washington Ave, just beyond Broadway where I’m hiding. There are hordes of them. Men, women, and children. The survivors fluctuate from dirty to clean, from well-dressed to ragged. Some carried weapons, others pushed wheelbarrows, and others rode on bikes. I was happy to see them for one specific reason.

I throw the fur on top of the snow to dry and start to remove my armor. The armor’s black like sea water. In front sits a flat and round chest plate, which bears random straight lines intersecting in diamond-shaped designs. I've never known their origin. I've wondered about it. The same pattern curls out on my right shoulder where the armor stretches out into a black point.

Hey everyone, my poem "Together" was recently published on an amazing literary magazine called Suburban Witchcraft. Together was a poem about a harpy and a carnivorous whirlpool that help each other eat in a haunted forest. As one does. You can read "Together" right here. (It is on page 130) Suburban Witchcraft is an excellent literary magazine.

I heard them last night. They came inside my house. It took the monsters two days to trace the hospital back to me. For Gerald, it was sooner. Since I’ve moved behind the wall, I haven’t been able to hear much. Last night, they wanted me to notice. They wanted me to know they were there. I spent the morning breaking into another house.

The mountains are only a continuous, charcoal hue inching by me as I fall into the forest. There are cracks and traces to it, an uneven ocean of stone. I tilt my weight as I glide close to it. I jab my sword into one of the long cracks along their cliffs. The silver metal grinds and sparks for a few moments then stops.

Hey all, I was fortunate to have my poem "Phantom Bricklayers" be published by the Skyway Journal. This is another haunted forest, dark fantasy, undead, sort of vibe of a poem. I love it, and feel honored to have it published. You can read "Phantom Bricklayers" right here No matter how many times I try and run from the imagery of the Phantom Forest from Final Fantasy VI, it always finds me.