Blog Archives

Writing In Suburbia #4: Be Your Social Media Self

It’s another week which means there is another episode of Writing In Suburbia!

This week I jabber about social media and how much I really dislike the rules that have been forced on to people when it comes to what you can and cannot do as a writer. Or even as a person. I do my ramble rant thing.

I also talk a little about AntiBio 2 and why you need to leave a review if you’ve read it!

Check it out.

Writing In Suburbia #3: Hippie Dippy Mind/Body Sh*t


Time for a new podcast episode of Writing In Suburbia! This episode is all about taking care of your body, as well as your mind, because pro writing is a marathon, people, not a sprint.

I also go off a little about how sick I am of bigots on Facebook. They suck.


Friday Night Drabble Party!

Tonight’s drabble party is postponed. There are several reasons.

I need to work my ass off on Z-Burbia 6: Rocky Mountain Die.

Also, tonight is the kick off for the Asheville 48 Hour Film Project. I’ve participated with Team Long Shot three years running and we’ve won the Audience Award for our group three years running. You can read the screenplays and watch the short films here. I’m trying to get myself mentally prepped for this.

But my last reason there’s no drabble tonight is that one hundred words can’t express what I’m feeling right now as I watch yet another act of extreme racist violence get turned into an “isolated” incident. There aren’t enough words and at the same time I don’t even have the words to say what needs to be said. Better people are expressing it out there. So I will let them.

But I will say it’s time for everyone to do what is right. No matter the cost. Do what is right. And if you don’t know what that is then make the effort to find out. This isn’t about sides or opinions. It’s about right and wrong and what happened was wrong. That is a truth. That is an absolute. You can’t spin this anymore, America. You just can’t.


Writing In Suburbia #2: Death By Taxes!

Howdy, Y’all!

Time for another episode of Writing In Suburbia. This week’s episode is about the importance of paying attention to your taxes. Seriously.

Of course, I make the topic fun. No, I don’t. That’s a lie. Taxes are never fun. But they are important. Have a listen. It could save you some heartbreak and headaches.

Also, I mock John Green for being in Paris. Not really. Good for John Green being in Paris. I envy that bastard some days.

And, since this is about everyday life, I explain the importance of mowing my lawn. Good times.

Feel free to comment or send in questions via email or tweet. Word!


Friday Night Drabble Party!

[Edit: Apparently the funding site Tamiko used does not allow legal defense funds. I am waiting to hear what the new site will be. I’ll keep y’all posted and change the links as soon as I know.]

Okay, so before I dive into the free drabble, which there will be one, I need everyone to take a look at something. I’m serious. This is no BS, people. Each week I give you free fiction, asking nothing in return, all for the enjoyment of you, my readers.

Now I’m asking for something back.

This is real world shit. I’m not asking you to buy my books or asking you to do anything for me. I’m asking you to give a little to help fight a severe injustice that has occurred.

Please read this and then give what you can. I have known Tamiko for years and she is one of the kindest, most generous people in Asheville. She has helped this community so much that to even think of anyone treating her with anything other than complete respect is just mind boggling. This is another example of law enforcement in our country believing they can get away with anything they want. This can’t stand.

Help Tamiko fight this.

Help us all fight this.

Thank you.

Now, on to the free fiction.


All At Fault
Jake Bible

“What am I accused of?” the young man asked, but the guards refused to respond.

They dragged him down the dark corridor, his feet skidding and scuffing as he tried to fight them; their steel-toed boots clomping and echoing as they continued their progress, unfazed by his weak protestations.

“What am I accused of?” the young man yelled as he was thrown into the room. The door slammed without an answer. “I’m innocent!”

“There are no innocent,” a voice said from the far corner. The room smelled of feces and piss. “We are all at fault. All of us.”


Thank you.

Disclaimer: Help Tamiko!


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