Musings

it is almost impossible to make a living as an author unless you appeal to the masses

On destiny

I touch a redwood tree and as well as its velvety body it has a living, breathing warmth.

A short story of debauchery and murder - Jack the Ripper, reimagined.

the years behind me stack up and crowd and fight for attention like a matryoshka doll.

She had affected him the way that lavender made one drowsy. She, the unsuspecting beauty; he, the curt, appreciative observer.