Friends, followers, and occasional readers,

It has come to my attention lately that certain peoples feel my words on this blog do not have merit. That I should be doing something more, something better with my time.

I would like to state that this blog is only one small piece of the puzzle I’m attempting to create.

I spent years of my life pursuing a degree that, after defending my masters thesis, I decided not to use. This was not a rash decision. On the contrary, it was months, years, of frustration building up, coupled with competing bureaucracy and bullshit, pardon the language.

I came to the conclusion that one of my greatest hobbies, most delightful passions, should be the profession I devote my time to, instead of finding a job in a field that makes me feel uncomfortable.

I love to write. I WANT to write. This blog is a simple platform designed to make people laugh, to perhaps brighten someone’s day. Or help them through a relationship dilemma.

I would hope that the posts are enjoyable. If not, comments are freely accepted.

Ok, rant over. Now I would like to present, for those of you who made it through, a small piece of the novel I’ve been working on. A simple prologue from a full length fiction novel, The Gatekeeper.



She dreamed of change. Always. Since she was a little girl.

It came to her as soon as she fell asleep, a longing for a shape that was not her own. She would feel her form shift and lengthen. Sometimes it was more of a yearning. She would hear others like her, running fast in front, and she would be stuck. It was as if she knew what she was supposed to do, what she wanted to do more than anything, but her body would not cooperate.

There were times in those dreams where she was powerless. There was nothing she could do except stand there with open hands and wait for the end. She felt for sure psychiatrists would have a field day dissecting her subconscious; probably say something about a lack of control in waking life, or whatever the female equivalent of an Oedipus complex would be. Therapists loved to talk about that kind of thing, do they not?

Her dreams were just the start. They were innocuous things, and every night it was the same. She didn’t think much of it. It was like she was on repeat. After a time it simply became normal. Commonplace.

That was how she considered herself as well. Normal. She was the typical middle child within the semi nuclear Abernathy family unit, picket fence in mundane middle class America. Perhaps that’s why she dreamed of being special.

She could not have asked for a better childhood. It was just the right amount of strictness and freedom, love and discipline, although it took her a long time to become aware of this delicate balance.

Dinner was always on the table by 6:30pm, so one needed to clean up and be ready by that point or there was no partaking of the meal.

Homework was completed before television time, and then only an hour allotted.

Those were simply the rules.

The weekends however…oh, the weekends. Those were the wild times. Their mother, before their brother was born, released the girls into the yard. Their chains snapped and they were loosed to the wind.

In those moments, they could be anything. Other little girls were princesses and pirates, mermaids and fairies. Heather and Amelia were all those things and more. After Anthony came into the house, the world changed and the games were more complex. Different, yes, but no less engaging.

Perhaps that is what sparked Amelia’s emerging curiosity for the paranormal. Maybe not exactly paranormal but anything not explained by conventional methods, anything out of the ordinary. She would leaf through novellas and other short stories until the day passed her by, picturing herself in the characters. There were daring adventures and shape shifters, sorcerers and witches and warlocks. Heather would always shake her head and laugh, wanting more than anything to logic those fantastical notions out of her sister’s head. As Heather grew older and built stronger walls around her, Amelia was sure the urges toward the mystical irked her sister to no end.

Heather grew up. So did Amelia. There was no stopping that inevitability. There would always come a time when fantasy ended, the extraordinary put away, and everyone fell neatly in line with what the rest of the world expected.

That was when the dreams became more vivid. Amelia could not begin to imagine that the dreams were just the beginning, a herald to something miraculous. Something called to her.

She had no idea that she was one of three.

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.