B1:C1 GOM “From Home to The Unknown”

If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start. -Bukowski   My life became meaningful thanks to a mistake. It all began on a Monday, November 22, 2004. I had a leather backpack, a blue t-shirt that read ‘Brussels Belgium’ stamped on the chest, and a pair of black pants. I … Read moreB1:C1 GOM “From Home to The Unknown”

Meetings and Future Plans

I’ve been looking forward to Tuesday. And Wednesday. Those are the two days when I attend my meetings. Toastmasters on Tuesdays. Rotary on Wednesdays. Tuesday was interesting since I had to do a dramatic, oratorical speech. It was great to be able to do something else other than the usual, funny and nonsensical stuff I … Read moreMeetings and Future Plans

Shamus Entertainment Rocks

I have a problem. I don’t blog as often as I should. For example, a while back, like a thousand years ago to be precise, I was lucky enough to go to the Mexican Consulate in Oxnard with a great friend. Shamus Murphy, screenwriter and producer at Shamus Entertainment. He has a repertoire of films … Read moreShamus Entertainment Rocks

Possessed

It was a dark and gloomy night. 7:30 p.m. State Street looked like if it was part of an old and haunted ghost town, with the exception of a homeless man taking a nap on a public bench, a young adolescent coming out of the bookstore with a copy of Kafka’s The Trial, and a woman standing alone on the corner of State and Canon Perdido.

Her name was Paola. She had on a short, red dress, and long blond hair. Her lips and shoes matching the dress, her hair complementing her Caucasian skin tone. No, she wasn’t a prostitute. She was waiting for Paul, her boyfriend.

She looked at the logo behind her, while gently hiding some of her hair behind her ear. “Borders, Book Store,” she said out loud, confidently knowing that the napping homeless was not close enough to listen to her soliloquy, and the teenager was halfway on the other side of the street. She then looked at the main entrance and was happy to see that they were going out of business soon. “Hopefully they open up a clothing store,” she said, cheerfully.

But of course, she wasn’t there because it was fun to look at signs. She’d been waiting for Paul a lot longer than what she anticipated. “Fifteen minutes is a long time,” she said, as a reddish blush of anger appeared on her cheeks.

She hated to be there. It was so frustrating. But it wasn’t just the ‘waiting’ part that irritated her. No, it was more than that. In fact, she was a little bit possessive and couldn’t help but think that Paul was fucking another woman in his office; added to that the fact that she didn’t know where his office was.

Paul never told her.

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Don’t Say The ‘H’ Word

I review and self-publish horror, and I’m thinking about directing a workshop for aspiring horror writers in the near future. Furthermore, I like to read the Horror Writers Association Blog to make sure I don’t miss out on what’s new and hot in the horror community. I’ve developed this weird fascination with the dark side ever since I was a kid, but I still find people who ask the question, “So, what kind of horror you like?”

I always thought I knew the answer to that question.

The meaning of the word ‘Horror’ has metamorphosed throughout the years, pretty much like Gregor Samsa in Franz Kafka’s unforgettable The Metamorphosis. People back then didn’t call it ‘Horror Fiction,” even though the thought of turning into a giant roach kept me awake many nights in a row. People called this ‘Absurdist Fiction,’ allegedly because it was merely a narrative that focused on situations where the main character cannot find any purpose in life.

Well, that’s absurd.

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