From time to time we will address some weighty issues on this blog. Here's a video of two individuals arguing something. Don't know what the issue is but I'm sure it's very important:


What's going on with this blog, you might be wondering. Is there ever going to be any new content? Well there is. Happy to profile a fun new series:

Fergyville by Katina Ferguson

Frank and Catherine are parents worn down by three young children, and life. As they try to come up with a new, more efficient, way of managing their lives, they are met with a series of unforeseen obstacles. When Frank gets home from work, things don't seem quite right. He begins to wonder if some of the problems experienced by his family are in fact the work of malicious people from his past.

Here is a little back story to the creation of the series and why I chose novelettes:

About the Fergyville series:

The concept for the series came as a result of conversations I had with my dad. Whenever I'd give him a call to see how he was doing, and fill him in on what's new, he'd be amazed with the way I turned an ordinary summary of the day into an entertaining drama or comedy. There are times where he would be in tears (from laughter) over the way I described something my kids did and my thoughts surrounding their deeds. He reminded me that, as a writer, I didn't necessarily have to craft epic stories right away; sometimes great stories can be made out of the material we're given every day. It wasn't something I had thought about since my preference is for paranormal and science fiction material, but I decided to give the contemporary story a "go" anyway. So far, I love it. The storyline in the Fergyville series isn't something I pulled from my personal life, but I draw from my personal experiences and certainly my observations of people (in general) to bring the material to life. I spend a lot of time transposed in the body of my characters because (for me) it is important that I know what they are "feeling" and why they feel the way they do.

Why novelettes and why a serial installment of novelettes:

I kept people like me in mind when I paced the reading time for the books; multitaskers, mothers and fathers of young children, folks with multiple jobs or juggling work and school…anyone with a hectic schedule really. I wanted those readers to be able to finish each book in one sitting so they could feel a sort of immediate gratification (in finishing the book) and still have time to read other materials that interest them. Novelettes are the kind of reads one can fit in between full length novels, and they are very entertaining. With this series, I decided to do a serial installment because it was easier to manage (with my schedule) and I felt it would give readers a chance to get to know me (my style) without having to spend a whole lot of money (or time) up front. The first book is paced at about a 30-minute read and the following books will be around the one-hour mark, somewhat like a television series, which is also the reason I call each book an episode.

Fergyville is set for 12 episodes. Do you already have them planned out or is that just a rough guess?
It's a rough guess. There are themes that I want to explore with the characters of Fergyville and I think it will take 12 novelettes to do it.

What is your writing process? Do you set certain hours of the day, or just write when you’re moved to do so? How many hours do you generally write?
My writing process varies. Like Catherine, I have three young children (they served as character models for Catherine's children) and no matter what I plan, in terms of a schedule, I usually have to make adjustments…this regular occurrence is what inspired the theme for episode 1 actually. During the summer all of my kids are in the house, so I write at night. I aim to do 3 to 4 hours but that depends on what's left of me at the end of the day. Realistically I get 1 to 2 hours in.

Do you have any favorite authors?
No favorites. A good book is a good book. Overall I've not been one to have a favorite anything ; food, color, music etc. There is what I like right now. I'm reading more indie work these days and the last book I thought was a wonderful surprise was The Evolution of Insanity by Haresh Daswani.

If somehow you were forced to stop writing, what would you do instead?
Good question. I'd go the verbal route…tell my stories. I'd dictate them to someone who could write them for me, or I would record them somehow, or I'd just snatch anyone who was willing to listen and talk to them.  I'm a chatter box.

At a movie theater which arm rest is yours?
The right of course J

Coke or Pepsi?
Pepsi all the way!

Fergyville is available on the Amazon Kindle and on Smashwords. Go get it; it's a fun read.

An Unfinished Book a Best Seller

John Green, a 33 year old young adult author, has a best seller on his hands before even finishing it. All thanks to his use of social media. Very inspiring.
Read the article at The Wall Street Journal. Then go write your book.

Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award

I am surprised and… well, touched quite frankly.

Gabriella, from has nominated me for the Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award. Thank you, Gabriella. And anyone reading this must check out her blog. I’m enjoying it very much.

The rules are simple:
1) Thank and link to the person that nominated you.
2) Share 7 random facts about yourself.
3) Pass the award to 15 3 of your blogging buddies. (I’m picking 6.)
4) Notify the recipients

My 7 random facts...
1. I love eastern European films though I’ve never been to that part of the world.
2. I have two injuries doctors don’t know how to fix.
3. I’m often awake till 7am.
4. I would drive out of my way to buy from a business I like.
5. I would drive out of my way to avoid buying from a business I dislike.
6. I do a lot of driving out of my way.
7. I think Steven Colbert is the best interviewer on TV.

The 6 people I nominate are:
1. Helen Hanson…
2. Missie...
3. Guido Henkel…
4. Katina Ferguson…
5. LaTonya Jones…
6. N. L. Earnshaw…

The Strange Journal of the Boy Henry

Entry 1

I was woken, this morning, by a man’s voice.
“Time to get up, son,” is what I heard, over and over. So I opened my eyes and saw him. He was sitting on the bed, staring down at me.
“You sleep okay?” he asked.
And he smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“My little prince,” he continued. “You sleep okay?”
I didn’t know how to answer him. Because I didn’t know this man. I’d never seen him before in my life.
He had black hair and a mustache and light blue eyes. His skin was very pale. Almost pinkish, like he’d just taken a bath. He had big hands and long arms.
“You sleep okay?” he asked me again.
“I think so,” I told him.
“Well, time to get up. You and your brother both.”
And he looked across the room, so I looked there too. I saw another bed with a boy about my age. He wore blue pajamas, and was laying on his stomach; but his eyes were on me. His head was shaved all around the bottom, leaving a brown clump on top. And I didn’t know him either.
“Where am I?” I asked the man.
“Home, of course,” the man said. “Where else?”
I didn’t have an answer for him. I wanted to panic. Am I crazy? Or was he? What if he was? I better just play along, I decided.
“Let me know if you start feeling faint or dizzy, Henry,” the man said.
Henry. I’m pretty sure that that’s my name.
“You’ve been ill,” he said. “Anyway, I’m making breakfast and you’re gonna like it.”
He rose, and I saw that he was tall. He sighed and smiled at the same time, then left the room.
The boy stared at me and I stared at him. It was weird. We just looked at each other for like a whole minute. Then he got up and walked out too.
I looked around at the room. The walls are a light blue, and there’s a map of the world, another of the universe, and a Periodic Table. There’s also a picture of a sword and a shield. A round window hangs above the boy’s bed. The glass is blurred, so you can’t really see anything outside. You can only tell that there’s sunlight. Aside from our two beds, there’re two desks.
I didn’t know this room.
I tried to remember what my room should be like. What my dad should look like. And my brother – the man had said the boy was my brother. When did I have a brother? I couldn’t remember. It was all blank.
I wanted to scream: where in the world am I??
I made a decision to not freak out. Really I just needed to think about this rationally. 
Entry 2

I didn’t want to go outside. At the same time I did. To find out what was happening to me. Was I in a dream? I quickly sat up and pinched myself hard. Then I shook my head like crazy. Deep down I knew this doesn’t get you out of a dream. But I had to do something.
And I was still here.
I lay back down. There had to be an explanation. The man did say I was sick. Some weird sickness had made me kinda go blank on some important things. But it would go away, I told myself. And my memory would return. I just had to wait.
My mouth tasted bitter. Like I’d not brushed for ever. I got up. My brain felt flooded suddenly, with pain, so I sat back down. I waited for it to go away. It only lessened after a few minutes, so I got up again.
My legs felt tingly and wobbly and strange, like I’d not used them in years. Slowly I walked to the door and held it for support. I wanted to go brush my teeth. I could see the germs in my mouth. Millions of them, multiplying by the second.
I peeked out. There was a long hallway that didn’t seem to have a light. The only light came from a corridor all the way down at the end. In the dimness I could make out many doors.
So I started slowly, leaning on the wall to steady myself. I tried the first door and it opened. I felt for the light, flicked it on and found a small room packed with old toys. I moved on. The next door opened to a room that had exercise equipment. The next room had boxes and food stuff stacked in shelves. I reached out and held a fourth door when another opened behind me.
The boy came out, and I saw that this was the bathroom. This time we didn’t do the staring. He kept his eyes low and just walked off.
When I looked in the bathroom mirror I saw myself. Sounds crazy but I thought I’d see someone else. But it was me for sure. Me, but bald. There’s just spiky brown fuzz like one tenth of an inch on my head. And that felt odd. I feel like my face comes with long curly brown hair that falls over my ears. But this me in the mirror had fuzz so short you could see my scalp, which was white like paper.
I didn’t know which of the three toothbrushes was mine. So I just put paste on my finger and rubbed hard at my teeth. Not taking a chance on the wrong brush.
I returned to this bedroom. The boy wasn’t here, for which I was glad. I closed the door, and opened the closet by my bed. Didn’t recognize any of the clothes in there. Could not remember ever wearing them.
I sat on the desk closest to my bed. I went through a dictionary; then looked through a cup that held pencils, an eraser and a ruler. These were used but I didn’t remember using them. Wouldn’t you remember your dictionary? Wouldn’t you know how your eraser’s getting worn? I’m the type that would remember. I think.
I got more panicked thinking this. Until I reminded myself I hadn’t even known the man and the boy. That’s a little bigger. I’m pretty sure.


Welcome. I’m just getting started. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right with you.