Frying the Cliche’

Can you smell it in the air? The breath of a fresh (not new!) cliche which is being weaved between the words of your favorite novels? A cliche is an unoriginal thought that is mostly known as the sign of a weak writer. We’ve all all been vicitms of cliche’d thoughts; whether good or bad that have made their ways into our minds. I sure know I have, some characters appear to be typical stereotypes, while others are advanced original chracters solid in their own will.

Sorrows of the draft

Welp, if you’ve been following this blog over the last week you’ll notice that I mentioned I would post another story in the series. That’s where this post begins, I have gone back and edited the draft time and time again, but I still am not pleased. I have gone back and am now in the process of redrafting the series keeping Vinnie as the protagonist while introducing other worthwhile characters. I’ve been working on a way to launch it properly and effectively so that is why it has been delayed three times now

Each story will be published 7pm on Tuesday every week. That following weekend I will be posting an audio version with full narration and sound effects for everyone. This will be a big project and I am doing my best to make it amazing. Tomorrow I will publish the sequel to Unlucky 7s, it is called Bullet from a Gravestone, and it will be a three part story. So that means that two stories will be up this week! Also tomorrow, I will shed more light on the series and will launch its own page on The Gray Pen.

Flash Fic – Demons

Just a piece of flash fiction featuring the cast from first first installment of the new webseries. You can read that here, Unlucky 7s. Sunday I will be posting the sequel to the story, and will be revealing more of the story as a whole. Hope you enjoy the read  

Photo ©Megan Reigle

“What was in the bag Tommy?” The detectives voice cooed easily to the little boy who sat across the aluminum table; he must have been no older than five. The boy merely shrugged and kept his brown eyes glued to his lap.

“It’s okay to talk to me, I’m a police officer. I’m a good guy,” He formed a plastic grin and slid his golden badge to the boy. The child looked up from his lap to the badge and gave an unsure tilt of his head before he creeped for it. “Go ahead, you can touch it, it’s real.” He spoke slow, and the boy took no time for it to settle before he seized it in his tiny pale hands; thumbing it over as if it were diamonds.

Unlucky 7s – Short Story

Hello all, yesterday I posted a piece of flash fiction, 2012. Today I’ve decided to post a short story featuring a certain detective who will be making an appearance in more short stories of mine. Next Wednesday I will be posting the “sequel” to this story and so on and so forth. Pardon any small errors, I’ve only had the chance to revise once. If you like, click the share buttons below to share it with more people ! Hope you enjoy the read

The sky broke open into a sea of rain splashing across the city now dark with the oncoming winter months looming in the threshold of autumn. Lightning escaped from the malevolent clouds; its light catching the reflections of a thousand windowpanes shaking with the thunder of the storm. The people of New York City hurried out of the busy streets; cars honked and an Italian cab driver barked out not-so-pleasant words at the idiot in the Honda who apparently didn’t know the difference between the gas and brake pedals. It was a typical Friday afternoon in the Big Apple, save the immense rains that threatened to sweep away the hordes of yellow taxis, beeping and steadily racking up the pay-rate for the miserable city folk.

Yet several hundred feet away, in an alleyway intersecting 92^nd street, something not so typical was happening. Four squad cars and a thick black Lincoln were blocking one of the exits and the officers stood in a semi-circle gazing at the body; no, the corpse of the young woman before them. Once pretty, but now she lay a macabre mess of blood and mutilation. Detective Vincent Gambini stood tall in a trench coat, his hands buried deep inside.

“What do we have here?” His voice came husky, and he retrived a cigarette from his pocket placing it in his lips. “ID?” Vinnie asked one of the officers who was busying himself with preserving the crime scene.