Contests, Flash Fiction, pictures, Signing Events

We can’t do it alone (women writers unite)


As Women’s History Month is upon us I couldn’t help but think of all the women who’ve helped me through my writing career.

I’ll highlight some of them, but this by no means includes all of the powerful women that I’ve come across since I’ve joined the writing community.  They know who they are, even if I do carelessly forget to mention them, they will forever be a part of my life, and I’ll forever be grateful for you.

I’ll begin with ‘the dream team’ as we often call ourselves which includes Andrea BarbosaChantell Renee, and myself.  We’re all award winning authors, and have sometimes placed in the same contest thus giving us another opportunity to be together.  Throughout the years we’ve worked on anthologies together including ‘Hair Raising Tales of Horror’ that Chantell and I published together.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Next of course would be Fern Brady who’s not only my publisher Inklings Publishing, sometime writing partner, but a dear friend.  Without her my debut romantic thriller Blood On The Potomac wouldn’t exist.  She helped shape me into the writer that has a fan page.


Next is the amazingly talented Patricia Flaherty Pagan who founded Spider Road Press which has published work from all the before mentioned authors.  She’s a fantastic author in her own right, highly intelligent, and a highly dedicated mom.  Patty is not just a strong female writer, she’s a life goal achiever.


Finally I’d like to highlight, Rebecca Nolan, an author I was a fan of before we worked together on my upcoming YA novel ‘Everything That Counts’.  She’s been an amazing mentor to me and has given me the drive to work harder than I ever have before.


Thank you to all the female authors I know and love including Gay YellenPamela Fagan HutchinsCourtney Summers, and Taylor Stevens (only two of which I’ve had the pleasure of actually meeting.

Women everywhere need to stand together-that’s the only way we’ll make it in the end-if we support each other.  Let’s work on making this world better for the women of the future.

Don’t miss a chance to read these amazing women’s work-simply click on their name to check out some stories that will stay with you long after you put the book down.


Flash Fiction, pictures, Uncategorized

‘All the Men I loved’ a poem

I spoke with an author who told me that he’s falling in love.  It instantly made me think (and say aloud) “Oh it will be wonderful when you die, and years from now, when someone reads your poems to her, your love will live on in your words.”

Hopefully that reads less awkward then it sounded.

Either way the end result was this poem, a genre I haven’t written in since high school when I pledged to write a poem everyday.  The ten journals full of prose will be the handprint I leave for the future to enjoy, and long after I’m gone the love stories I lived will become immortal.

All the Men I loved

All the Men I loved

           Were lucky

            Not just because they had me

Nor that they could touch the edges of the flame inside of me

            But because I loved them through prose

            Each of them differed

Like leaves on a tree

            Changing in color from

            Green, yellow, orange, a hint of blue

            But it started the color of coal

            With the first I was uneasy  stilted







            So I forgive him

            How was he to understand that I’d take his pain?

            And make it my own if I could

            When I couldn’t find the words myself?

            But the rest of them didn’t get me

Not really

            Never truly understood the passion in my belly

            Or how it would continue to bubble

            Until my fingers began their work

            That whether it was ink to paper

            Or typing on a screen

            It was really my blood on the page

            All the Men I loved

Live on in my work

            As does our story

            Those tatterd and worn sheets

Torn out of my notebook

            Which I handed them in-between classes

            Ended up

            Shoved in the bottom of their backpack


            They took my words for granted

Didn’t bother to deeply understand

            The way I let words tell me





            All the Men I loved

Never knew how fervently I loved them

            How I could see through their skin

            Past their smiles which were brighter than the sun

            Deep into the color of their eyes

            Blue like the sea, green like 
            freshly cut grass, darker than the night sky

            Even alternating, with no reason, like 
            a broken mood ring.

            All the Men I loved

Were never carried away by my words

            Never wrapped in the warmth of my tone

            All the Men I loved

Left my poems in a crumpled mess

            Torn and mismatched like they left my heart

All the Men I loved

            Never really loved me

Contests, Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

‘The Girl Who Walked In The Dark’ – a flash fiction piece

Last year I entered  ‘Thomas’ into the 2015 Flash Fiction Contest hosted by Spider Road Press.  The piece won an honorable mention and will be printed later this year from the amazing Spider Road Press.  They’ve also published my poems ‘Darkness’ and ‘Snowfall’ (the latter under the pen name Elizabeth Harris) in the collection ‘IN THE QUESTIONS’.  Not only do they publish exceptional works in many forms, but a portion of their proceeds go to charity.  I hight recommend checking them out because they only publish the best.

This year I had two pieces of flash fiction that I’d prepared for their contest-you can find out more about the details for submitting your own work by clicking here for the requirements.  After much consideration by myself, other writers, and friends one piece was better than the other.  While I’ve been told that both pieces are great, and I believe they are, one is more likely to get me that first place prize.  Thus I had a piece that might never see the light of day…thankfully I have a blog.


‘The Girl Who Walked In The Dark’ consists of 745 words.  It is not only intended to send a message about women and their role in society, but to reflect a moment in time and all the thoughts one might be thinking in a particular situation.  It does contain some ‘adult’ language, and violence, but it isn’t graphic thus I’ve deemed this particular piece a PG-13 rating.  Therefore I must ask that you proceed with caution, and understand that it is only fiction after all.

Enjoy-and keep your fingers crossed that my other flash fiction piece is a winner.









The Girl Who Walked In The Dark


I’m not the kind of girl you mess with.

I’m Lisbeth Salander, Arya Stark, and Michonne all in one. Sure you’ll try to break me; maybe you’ll even think you won. Better men have tried, and failed. I’ll wait for my moment, the briefest instant when you have your guard down; that moment will be mine.

You’ll go to your local coffee shop, ask my accomplice: the preppy, twenty-something, blonde barista for the usual. Your eyes will glide across her body, leaving a layer of slime in their wake. Daybreak will blind you on your way out. You’ll take a sip of your double caramel espresso latte. It won’t hit you at first, the stale aftertaste that lingers on your tongue. Instead of requesting it to be remade, you’ll head to your car. Don’t want to be late to work. By the time you reach the car door, your vision is blurry. You’ll dig in your pocket, but you’ll drop the keys when your balance is off.

A small, fair-skinned hand will pick them up for you.

“Thanks,” you’ll say.

“Remember me?” I’ll respond.

You’ll blink.


Trying to recall the face in front of you. It doesn’t matter though, because I’ll break your nose with my elbow before you can complete a coherent thought.

I’ll drag you to the back of your car, toss you in your own trunk, and silently thank you for the new car. Bands of sunlight shine on the blistering black asphalt, they’ll absorb your poisoned coffee.

You’ll wake up in the warehouse district.




You’ll run the gambit of human emotion thinking you’re alone, but I’ll sit in a dark corner giggling to myself, because no one can hear you over the sounds of downtown.

It will only take a few hours.

For you, it will seem lifetimes of agony.

For me, not nearly long enough.


In reality, military style boots, a skull t-shirt, and skinny jeans don’t make me tough. Besides I’m closer to Elinor Dashwood, Hermonie Granger, or Sansa Stark.

My favorite color is pink, my phone is filled with pictures of unicorns, and if adult women were allowed to wear a tutu to go grocery shopping, I would.

I scream when I see a spider. And I’ll make my boyfriend kill it.

“Real tough, babe,” he’ll chuckle. “Thought you were a badass, but you can’t step on a bug with those big ole boots.”


On a hot, sticky, Texas summer night I’ll acknowledge the truth about myself: I’m a girl living in modern American society, not a comic book hero. All of this is going through my head when my guy friend says; “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Half of me wants to scoff and retort. “I’ll kill any asshole that tries to mess with me. Besides we’re in Bellaire, who’s going to attack me? A middle-aged, affluent engineer?”

But then I’ll notice how quite the parking lot is, and that the light above my car is flickering, so I’ll say nothing. Not that the two of us stand a chance against a drunk looking for a fight. What would our weapons be? Our eye glasses? His iPad? My unfiltered wit?

I won’t confess any of the above to my guy friend in the parking lot. That I’m both a vicious warrior and a princess locked in a tower. Then again, we did just have a beer while discussing the finer art of knitting, so I’m pretty sure he knows.

He’ll wait until I start my car, and send a quick text to my boyfriend that I’m on my way home. After all I’m a girl, driving home after midnight. Have to let everyone know where I am, because an urban landscape with no daylight is a scary place for a woman.

It wouldn’t have to be that way if I were as fierce as I believed myself to be, or if rapists and murderers found a new hobby.

Until then I’ll strive to keep the fire alive inside of me. I’ll be my own version of awesome literary heroine.

I’ll be “The Girl Who Walked in the Dark”; the one who will tear you limb from limb with her bare hands.

But, the other part of me will still keep the child-like wonder within.

I’ll be “The Girl Who Wished Mermaids Were Real”; the one obsessed with videos of kittens playing with a ball of yarn.