Fraidy Cat


I scare really easily. too easily.
To this day a picture of Rod Serling smoking a cigarette scares the crap out of me just because of the memory of Twilight Zone marathons I was forced to endure as a child (Thanks, Mom).
As a victim of my own overactive imagination, real life situations often pale in comparison to things that I conjure up in my head   An article about a sinkhole making headlines in the news?  I will stare into space for ten minutes after I read the article and wonder if the gaping sink hole has the potential to spread to me (...300 miles from where it originated, and engulf everyone unfortunate enough to be in its path, unexpectedly pulling me from where I sit at my computer, leaving only enough time to scream, "WHY?!?" as my weakening fingers lose their grip on the edge of the Earth).
A plane flying too low as a thunderstorm approaches?  I stare up at the sky just a little too long wondering what if a flash of lighting strikes the plane teleporting it and all its' passengers to another dimension leaving me to convince those that didn't witness it that the passengers of the plane are still out there (victims of citizens of a parallel universe intent on learning human patterns and studying Earth to prepare for a planet-wide colonization).

You would think with such a creepy imagination and a clear penchant for torturing myself the horror genre would be a natural fit.
Too bad I have always been too freaked out to try.
In honor of Halloween this year, I am stepping outside my comfortable box and publishing my first horror short story.  On October 31, I am debuting the short story, Chesapeake House, on Kindle.  It is the story of a traveling young couple whose stop at a deserted rest area leaves them fighting to survive an apparent zombie pandemic.

Horror writer, Harry Shannon, is quoted as saying, "...reading and writing horror is about eating my own shadow so it won't eat me."  This leaves me to believe that maybe people who write horror are the biggest fraidy cats of all, just made a little less scared by being in the driver's seat of the inevitable dysfunction.  I'm hoping getting knee-deep in my own worst nightmares will do something to smolder my raging imagination.  Or at least bring it down to a simmer.  If not, I'll just keep reminding myself...

Love and Light,


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