Sorry guys...

I'm dreadfully sorry that I haven't been writing. I recently had to break up with my fiance, so just give me a few weeks and I will be back in the saddle and ready to write...just not right now. I don't even feel like breathing atm, let alone writing.

Busted hand?!

Howdy ho, kids! It's Smile Time!

Man, I sure do love that show Angel.



Recently, as in earlier today, I got something potentially exciting in the mail. DAW books has rejected my manuscript! How fun. I made this video of it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bNIffA2BcdM&feature=channel_video_title

Also, I cut my hand up pretty bad today. I was breaking a toilet (the toilet that I had to install that wasn't allowing me to write this blog for the past few days. Damn shrapnel.

In lighter news I have about 70 odd pages to go in Hole in a Helmet, my ww2 novel! Here's a piece I hope you'll enjoy. I found it quite comical.

“J. C.,” Fairbanks called. “Look on your map. Where are we?”

The squad’s sniper rolled over, sighing as he tried to reach behind his backpack and grab a roll that was sticking out one of the loose pockets. He muttered obscenities as his fingers were just barely long enough to tap it.

Leaning forward in a casual motion, Mike stripped J. C. of the map and then handed it to him. The sniper sat up and gave him a nod before rolling out the blueprint of France. “By my estimations…” The man tilted his head to the left, then the right, then arched a brow.

“Bar, come check this out.”

The tall man scooted over on the ground to where he sat next to his team member. “What?”

Both men pointed to different spots on the page, whispering to each other and either nodding or shaking their heads before finally setting the paper down.

“Well?” The leader asked, a bit agitated.

“We are officially lost,” was the reply. All the men gave a sigh and fell over.

Fairbanks’ blood boiled at that. “Officially lost? How can we be officially lost? Just look for the chapel a mile from the road!”

J. C. shook his head, saying, “I wish it was that easy.”

Sharps pitched in, asking in an elevated tone, “Then what were you pointing and nodding about?”

“Then what were you pointing and nodding about?”

The sniper turned the paper around to show the squad a black and white rolled up photograph of one of his favorite models striking a pose in a skimpy wear. “She has lovely breasts, no?”