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I've been writing short fiction for seven years. To date, I've had 31 stories published - 30 by e-zines in the US, Canada and the UK; one in a hard copy book published in Canada. 

I'm a Fall 2017 graduate of the famous Sarah Selecky Writing School's 'Story Intensive' program. I highly recommend this four-month, online classroom experience using a very effective virtual classroom tool that allows anyone to easily share their class assignments, new work and comments with other members of their class no matter where in the world each member may live.

I regularly submit new work to competitions and the editors of online journals and e-zines that I find interesting and potentially accepting of my style of telling a story. While I've enjoyed some success, I have accumulated over one hundred of those dreaded 'thanks, it's not for us' emails from editors!

My published work is spread out across the internet so it would take a lot of work on your part to fin…
Recent posts


“Dawson? Get your ass over here. Now.”
“PK? Jeezus old man, it’s 330 in the effin’ morning.”
“So what? You’re young. You don’t need a shit load of sleep anyways. Besides, got somethin’ here you’re gonna wanna see. In thirty, boy. Out.”
PK hung up.
This was just too important to wait until the kid rolled out of bed at 10, maybe even noon. It could be all over by then. He couldn’t tell for sure. But the kid would know what to do. Dawson was young, but he had the smarts for this sort of thing. Kinda reminds me of when I was younger and in the squad. Hernandez thought I was the best damn code breaker he’d ever worked with.
Phillipe Kayson. 71 years old and looking way worse for wear than he rightly deserved. Fondly known as PK to all his Armed Forces buddies and a couple of close, non-military friends.
PK hadn’t slept much in the past few days. Might even be longer, but he wasn’t sure. Not that he cared. No, sir, this pill stuff had to be solved right soon so he could get on with the mission.…


Will squints over the top of the Sunday paper.
He just finished reading aloud a short piece about a recent ‘reveal all’ book in the UK. It was a collection of actual love letters, written by politicians, celebrities and theatre people. Reuben St. Clair had persuaded each of them and their lovers to let some of their intimate, but up to now private letters, be shared with the public.
The story finished, Will launches into a rant about how intimate thoughts should never be shared in such an exploitive and voyeuristic manner.
“Besides,” he concludes, “How on earth does a guy ever think up all that stuff they write to their lovers?”
Throughout Will’s entire reading and rant, Esther offers up the obligatory ‘uh huh,' ‘oh dear' and ‘oh my god, she wrote that?’
That’s when she realizes that if there is ever going to be the right time to tell Will, it’s now. The UK story is an unexpected gift from the gods.
Esther places her reading glasses onto the side table between them. Standing, sh…