How to survive becoming an author…week 4…Surviving Creative Story Telling Stereotypes!

Introduction, The problem or need, The Conflict, The Climax, The resolution. It may sound like the makings of the perfect ‘One Night Stand’, but it is actually the model from which many story tellers arrange their stories when it comes to writing. Here is an example of what I’m talking about:

“Here is Dave (Introductions). Dave needs a ride to the bar so he can hook up with a babe while avoiding the Mob (The problem or need). Dave calls his friend who apparently wrecked his car dodging a squirrel and now needs to ride his bicycle through the Mob’s territory (The Conflict). Dave narrowly escapes the Mob while riding his bicycle to said bar (The Climax), only to find out he’s 30 minutes late and babe has already hooked up with his friend with wrecked car and Dave ends up passed out in dumpster after drinking away his sorrows (The resolution…sort of).”

And so the Formula goes on, and on, and on, in nearly every piece literature. Most stories are also either narrated by a either a narrator (often referred to as ‘third person’ is a person telling the story who is not actually in the story). Another is a secondary character close to the main characters but has limited interaction with the actual story, action, or plot. Yet another is that the narrative of the story is being told by the main character or supporting characters themselves who actually contribute to the overall action and dialog of the story.

Now don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with these particular models, and for most stories this method is actually best. But for the adventurous few, there are a few ways in which you can tell a story using non-traditional stereotypical means.

An example of a non-traditional method of telling a story can be found in a book penned by Tom Lambert entitled “Living with Earl”. The book is a fictional narrative of the author himself (Tom) and his live-in house guest (Earl) who looks and speaks exactly like the famous author Samuel Langhorne Clemens (a.k.a. Mark Twain). The inspiration for the book came from the famous author’s thousands of known quotes, which Tom Lambert individually picked out one at a time and wrote a short story for each based on the Mark Twain quote. Though the stories are short, each story builds one upon an other to a crescendo of emotions, and produces thought provoking commentary on such topics as veterans and today’s youth, not to mention a few laughs along the way.

Another example of non-traditional story telling can be found in Jim Beard’s prose series called “Sgt. Janus, Spirit Breaker”. Roman Janus is an ex-soldier who now travels around “Breaking” spirits and demons from various locations in the late 1800’s early 1900’s England. In the first book of the series, the story is told chapter by chapter, by each of the spirit breaker’s clients, who are asked to write a journal accounting for every aspect of their experience while he battles the spirits to the finest details. Once again like Mr. Lambert’s book, the stories are told in short chapters, but the progression of Sgt. Janus’ deterioration as his adventures begin to take a toll on the character is evident  with his described demeanor with each passing story. A very impressive feat of story telling in both instances.

So as you sit down to write that first novel you’ve always dreamed of penning or typing, keep in mind that your creativity does not have to always follow traditional story telling stereotypes. Don’t be afraid to venture into uncharted territories and let your readers see the story in a new and exciting angle and view that only you can tell. Mix it up, break traditions and be, you!

For more information on Tom Lambert and his novel “Living with Earl” go to or follow him on facebook @

For more information on Jim Beard and his “Sgt. Janus” series, you can look him up on Amazon at and while you are at it, show him some love on his Facebook page at

For more information on me and my writing, feel free to follow me on my Facebook page @ or on Amazon @

Best of luck in your writing and I will see you next week for another installment, and be sure to drop me in a comment on this and my other blogs! Let’s get a conversation started, especially those with experience so we can all help new, budding writers achieve their dream!

How to survive becoming an author…week 3…Surviving Author Etiquette!

Just because something is good doesn’t make it popular, and just because something is popular doesn’t make it good. This one phrase and/or any of the other ten thousand variations are the chief core of what I call “Author Etiquette”. It is a simple set of un-binding rules that (in my opinion) help in day to day meetings and greetings from other authors.

In general, the author community is very friendly and exciting. New and budding authors mix and mingle daily on the internet via Twitter, Facebook and yes, even MySpace. (yes, it is still around) So here is a quick lesson on Author to Author etiquette that you should live by. (the following reflect the views and opinions of the author, and not necessarily the views of other authors, WordPress, Most people still using MySpace, and small furry creatures crawling around in your crawlspace.)

Rule 1: The Review Exchange

A lot of authors out there write for two reasons. One, to make their voice heard, their story told, their opinions amplified, or just to make noise. The second to make money. One great way of getting the almighty consumer to part with their cash or worsen their mounting credit card debt is to have others speak highly of your work, a.k.a. the “Review”. If most people hate something, others will not buy it. Likewise, if many people like the work, it may encourage others to buy your book. Thus, a new industry practice is born! Authors helping other authors by simply logging into Amazon, or other online book stores, and simply giving a marvelously stupendous review of the other’s material…without actually reading the said book.


Believe it or not, there are people out there in the business of “Selling their Reviews”. You pay them, and they post a review. Now if a asked a person on the street to walk up to a stranger and tell them to say something great about my book, they would probably laugh in my face. Now give them a hundred dollars, and they would probably be more than inclined to help. There are a few reasons why I don’t do it. The first is if I’m not earning the review simply by having a good book, then I don’t want it. It is a question of ethics. Second reason is that you don’t know what you are reviewing. If I was handed a box with unknown content and asked to review the food inside, I could spout on for days on the savory smells, the detectible juices, the smooth texture and exquisite taste. But if I opened the box after my mouth and found it full of year old cow manure, what did it say about me? I don’t like cow manure particularly, and I wouldn’t tell people to eat it, point made.

Personally, I always let the other author know that I have no intensions on reviewing something I haven’t actually read. By saying this, you have let and ensured the other author that you truly intend to read the hard work and passion they have put into the work. Trust me, you will gain not only truer friends, but if they like what you read and vice versa, both have gained a new fan, and hopefully their fans become fans as well.

Rule 2: Do for me if I do for you

Floating back to rule 1, just because you read and review a fellow authors work, DO NOT expect the other author to do the same. I have read and reviewed several works by a number of fellow authors. Writers like Jim Beard, Tom Lambert, Pete the Popcorn, and Andy Peloquin. And of the group just mentioned, not one of them have offered or reviewed any of my said work. How does that make me feel, well, happy.

Why you ask? Why would I spend the long hours reading over their material and spend precious moments writing reviews for authors who possibly have no intensions on doing the same? Well, because it goes back to ethics and the first rule. Just because I am willing to do it does not make it a requirement for others to stop their day and do the same. I enjoy reading, and I enjoy supporting of authors and lending advice and grand reviews if the material of worth it, but I’m not going to march to their homes and demand they do the same for you, that’s just plain rude.

Rule 3: Speaking of other authors

I recently read a blog by another author. In the blog, the author sounded slightly angered by the fact that he/she wasn’t able to gain any publicity in a local paper. The rant carried on about how another writer was featured in the same paper which was, in his/her own opinion, less the sub-par, and that she couldn’t understand how a writer who published 200 pages of “Boo-Hoo” about her life could trump the 600 page plus masterpiece that he/she had written. This actually turned me off about the writer, if they couldn’t help support another writer just because he/she was doing better than himself/herself, why would that writer want to support them. Once again, ethics people! This takes me back to the first line of this blog, partly. Just because you don’t like someone else’s writing, does not make it bad (to others), and if you like someone else’s writing doesn’t mean it’s good (to others). It’s a matter of taste, something you should always remember when speaking of other’s writing.

Let me give you an example of the above rules. While online one day a year or two back, I was blessed to meet an author by the name of Andy Peloquin. He had just written a book and was looking for other authors to review the work. He was quite professional about it, had an e-mail list of perspective readers and reviewers, sent regular messages including review material, blog information, press release kits, the whole nine yards. The book sparked my interest so I agreed to read and review his work. Even though it took me a better part of a year to read it (sorry again Andy), I did finish the material and put out the best review I could. Do I expect him to do the same even though I did furnish him with a copy of my own, absolutely not. If he did, it would be great, but not everyone is into YA, high school, fantasy, romance novels. I wouldn’t expect him to sit and read something he wouldn’t enjoy, it could reflect on his own honest review, that could be bad for me. Then again, they may be busy with other writing or aspects of their lives, like myself who runs two post offices, married with five children, and tries to squeeze in his own writing while keeping up with reading other books that I wish I had more time for.

So in closing, be respectful for other’s work. Try to remember the blood, sweat, and tears you yourself put into your own work and imagine other writers doing the same thing, whether you think the end result may be garbage or the best thing since sliced bread. Do what you can in every instance to lift others up and be supportive and helpful, but don’t always expect the others to do the same for you, whether by choice or by life obligations.

For information about Andy Peloquin and his writing, check him out at He is a superb writer, you won’t regret it!

For more information on me and my writing, feel free to follow me on my Facebook page @ or on Amazon @

Good Luck! And I will see you (figuratively of course) next week for another exciting installment!

How to survive becoming an author…week 1…Surviving initial disappointment.

So, you want to be an author, congratulations! There is nothing more exciting than surfing Amazon and seeing the novel that you have poured your blood, sweat, and tears into sitting on their website for the whole world to see. That is, until you creep your cursor to the middle of the page and find it ranked at about 800,000,000th out of 799,999,999 books available. It is about this time when you start feeling like you are doing something wrong. You befriend other writers both online and in the real world and wonder what exactly they are doing, then you start trying to do what they are doing to help get your name out there and…


Let me tell you a story, well not a story per say, but let me tell you about my experience. I started off pretty much the same way most writers do, alone in a dark and sinister world, when my over imagination netted me the creation of my very first novel. I couldn’t have been more proud and as I watched my first title grace the catalog at, and as most first time authors do, I waited impatiently for the hundreds and millions of dollars to start flying my way. You can imagine the initial disappointment when I received my very first royalty check in the amount of exactly $1.00.

I had no idea what I had done wrong! I was on the radio promoting it, I was on TV promoting it, I was featured in online and printed news stories. It was about that time, in the very beginning, when I first crossed the starting line of this long race that I nearly gave up. But instead of giving up, I started looking for answers to what I was doing wrong. I will tell you that answer soon enough.

During my initial slew of interviews to promote my book, I was blessed to become acquainted with (now a good friend) another author who was from the general area in which I live by the name of Jim Beard. Now Jim’s specialized in many fields of expertise including a very in-depth knowledge of comic book history and pop culture in general, but his primary writing style was that of the old “pulp fiction” novels. No, I’m not referring to the famous Quinton Tarantino movie, but a particular style of writing in which the story line is driven more by action than by purpose or searching of meanings.

Okay, this part will be difficult to write (not to mention embarrassing), but here it goes. As I got to know Jim, I started watching what he did, what he said, how he confronted buyers at a local signing he attended with me. The more I observed and followed, the more I wanted to do what he was doing, write in the style he wrote, go to the shows he went to, publish with the same people he did. I actually think in a way I started to become jealous of him and the success he had. I wanted to literally attach myself to his hip and do everything he did, like he did. It was about this time when I realized that I had to just…stop…and reassess my situation.

After a long month of pondering, I finally figured out what I was doing wrong, It was…


I was doing nothing wrong at all, so simple yet so profound. The reason I don’t write like Jim Beard, or know comics like him, or was an expert in pop culture, or write like a pulp writer is simply because I’m not Jim Beard, I’m Terry James! I write like Terry James writes, and that is not a bad thing!

As far as sales are concerned, they are still light or near non-existent, but I am slowly earning my fan base as I go. It ain’t going to happen over night, but I will achieve my goals eventually. When I do, I’m going to achieve it the way Terry James is going to achieve it, and I’m good with that. (not that having a few writer friends with a little experience ain’t a good thing, but remember that your success is determined by what you yourself put into it, not by jumping on the shoulders of others.)

As far as Jim is concerned, me and him are still good friends, and I am a huge fan of his work. If you are interested in seeing some of his work, you can look him up on Amazon at and while you are at it, show him some love on his Facebook page at

For more information on me and my writing, feel free to follow me on my Facebook page @ or on Amazon @

I hope if you are a fledgling writer that this blog helps, see you next week when we talk about writing tippers!

How to survive becoming an author…week 2…Surviving Writing Tippers!

So you’re ready to write, but you are just not sure what you are doing. No problem, a quick spin of ye old Google wheel will net you nearly tens of thousands of “ready-to-help-you” specialist clinically trained to teach you exactly how to write the novel that will instantly launch you to the very top of The New York Times best sellers list, netting you millions of dollars in royalties and a carefree life for as long as you live. (if you believe this, please go back to the first blog in this series, I think you missed it…or the point.) Of course, not much of it is really ‘free’ and usually want your credit card up front to subscribe their newsletter which will explain how you can learn more about how to write if you spend more money on their book, “How to Write a Winning Novel!”

For example, for a nominal fee into the hundreds, you too can learn how to write just like James Patterson! Of course James won’t come into your home and address the questions you have personally, but he has a crack team of other students standing by ready to help. Several other authors offer similar classes in the form of online seminars as well. Not to mention the millions of publications that offer to walk you through the writing process.

But let me ask you one important question, who taught Mary Shelly to write a good horror story? How about, who taught Homer how to write a 179,103 word poem? Who taught Douglas Adams to translate his skewed and humorous view of humanity onto the pages of his books? The answer is…no one…simple huh?

Now that is not to be interpreted into having an excuse for not having a well-natured grammar-nazi on hand to double check your run-on sentences or sulk over your fondness for, the, Walken, comma, over the, Oxford, comma. (please tell me you get the joke…please!) I’m just saying that each of their styles of telling a good story is so distinctively, them, so when you write look for your own style and make it yours!

I can tell some of you may not be completely convinced, you still want a little help, who do I turn to? well first…not me, LOL! I have the years and the cred for these blogs, but my personal editor still screams at me from 45 miles away (no she don’t, but I’m sure she has cursed me a few times in her head. Luv ya Ash!). So here are a few credentials to look for when listening to peoples help in writing: First, what have they written? People who want to help others succeed should have at least written something successful, right? If their book-ology includes nothing but books on how to write books, there is a problem. Second, look for someone who is writing in a genre similar to your own. If you like to write YA fantasy, you probably don’t want to take advice from a documentarian. And last but not least, charge! There are several authors out there who are generally interested in you achieving your goals and want to help, at no charge. Authors like Cassandra Morgan and myself who ourselves don’t quite know everything, but are willing to offer what little we can offer.

For more information on Cassandra Morgan and her work, you can visit her website @

For more information on me and my writing, feel free to follow me on my Facebook page @ or on Amazon @

So have fun with your writing, be yourself and put all of yourself (and not James Patterson) into your books! Next week, we will look at surviving author etiquette.

She was a woman of exquisite taste

“Your wife is a woman of exquisite taste!” Miss Elizabeth Strough commented as she was led inside the home of Mr. And Mrs. Andrew Armsden.

Mr. Armsden ushered her in and immediately took her coat, “Miss Strough, please do come in and make yourself at home.”

“Please,” she insisted quickly, “call me Elizabeth. The is no need for formalities, you know why I’m here.”

He took immediate notice of her rather thin frame. She was taller than average for her build and appropriately dressed for a young lady her age whom was attending a formal dinner. But there much more to her visit than idle chat.

“Of course, Elizabeth, if you’d like to take a seat, I’ll have some refreshments brought out as soon as possible.” He replied as he offered her a rather comfortable looking chair.

“Thank you,” she accepted as she eased her way into the chair, noting to herself the exquisite patterns and gothic décor of the room, “will Mrs. Armsden be joining us soon?”

Cooper Armsden seemed to stop in his tracks at the question, though his face remained as confident looking as it had when she first walked in, “I’m afraid The misses has become quite ill in the last few hours and has taken to bed early. She does apologize for any inconvenience and hoped you might still stay for dinner, no used wasting such a delectable meal.”

“That is indeed disheartening, and troublesome for a woman of her age, I hope it is nothing serious?”

“Nothing to worry about I’m sure, now, you’ve come all this way, would you honor a old man’s invitation to dinner? Perhaps in due time, she may feel better and grace us with her presents?”

The young woman thought about it for a moment. She had indeed traveled way to far to just make a waste of her time, “Very well, I accept!”

“Splendid!” The old man shouted excitedly, “it won’t be but a moment I assure you.”

With a bow of the head, he disappeared into another room, leaving Elizabeth alone to her thoughts. She had been on the trail of this elusive collector of rare and one-of-a-kind art work for some time. Many had attempted to interview Lady Armsden for years, and in a moment of shear luck, a representative for the art collector just happen to appear in for office.

It was a writer’s dream to interview a woman such as herself, and she wasn’t going to take this news lying down. She’d camp outside the house if necessary. It was during this time that she paused from her thoughts and gazed in amazement at the absolute beauty of an art collection which nearly covered every inch of the walls in the room.

It was shortly after this discovery when Mr. Armsden made his way back into the room, “if you would like, we may sit at the table now. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

In true gentlemanly fashion, he offered the young lady a arm as he escorted her into a grand dining hall equally adorned with a collage of artwork from nearly every artist the woman could think of. The table itself could easily seat thirty people and stretched onimously from one side of the room to the other. At the far end of the table there were two places set up for them.

“Won’t you have a seat?” The man gestured to one of the chairs.

Elizabeth did so as the man assisted with pushing the chair in before retiring to his own. Before her was a small plate covered in a cloche with a empty wine glass, silverware, and a napkin.

“I hope you will forgive me,” the old man started as he leaned over his own plate, “but I had sent the butler and chef home a few hours before your arrival. But if it helps, in my many travels around this world, I have become something of an accomplished chef when it comes to preparing food.”

Elizabeth was taken aback for a moment as she stared at her setting once again, then smiled, “I would be honored to taste the culinary wonders of a eccentric and elusive multimillionaire with a fine taste in visual masterpieces.”

The man smiled, “I am glad to hear it, please, help yourself!”

She reached up and lifted her cover, an amazing aroma welcomed her as she began to inspect the contents of her plate. Meats, cheeses, and a small variety of small bread wafers covered in a sauce that she could not quite identify. A quick glance across the table revealed the similar contents on her host’s plate as well. She took a moment to take in the sweet aroma before speaking again, “it smells absolutely wonderful, what do you call this?”

“I haven’t really got a name for it. It is from way back in my younger days when I was on the hunt in Africa when I discovered this particular entrée from some of the locals.” He confessed.

“Do please go on,” Elizabeth said as she scooped up a spooned up a cautious amount and brought it to her lips, I am most intrigued to hear of your travels.”

The man took a healthy bite on wiped his mouth, “I’m afraid that the story is much less glamorous than it sounds, Miss Elizabeth. Myself, my good friend Thomas Thayer, and our expedition was on the hunt for an elusive lion that had been terrorizing a few of the local villages. We’d tracked it for weeks into the Lybian Dessert and somehow lost our way.”

“How horrible!” She replied as she continued to eat. The dish was absolutely delicious and she caught herself beginning to take very un-womanly bites. She cautiously forced herself to keep to the small bites despite the fact that as unlike her it was, all she wanted to do was pick up the plate and pour it in her mouth all at once.

“It was a horrible experience to say the least.” The man continued, “Both our trackers were lost to the lions during our hunt and we’d all but given up the search. By the thirtieth day, we were lost and exhausted of all our rations. It seemed almost hopeless until…”

Elizabeth leaned into the table completely enthralled by his tale. His long pause felt like an eternity, she felt the need to push him forward into the story but at the same time felt it to be rude. Perhaps a painful memory he was trying to word very carefully.

“My friend was the first to go. I supposed it was better that way. I wouldn’t wish our experience on my worst enemy. We were found luckily by a native tribe who nursed us back to health. And it was this very meal that they served us again and again.” He finally smiled, “of course I’ve embellished and tinkered with the recipe on and off, but the basic ingredient is still the same.”

“And that is?” she asked as she looked down at the plate and noticed it was empty. She was surprised yet mortified as to how quickly she had eaten it, almost embarrassed that he might notice. Instead, as she raised her eyes back at the gentleman, she was greeted with a warm and kindly smile.

“relax my dear, your eyes say it all, and it is the same reaction I had when I first had it. It is quite an intriguing and wonderful dish do you agree?”

“Quite,” she hesitated as she stared back down at the plate.

“Would you like another helping,” the man asked with the same quirky smile on his lips, “I will understand if you say no, but there is no need for lady-like courtesies around here, no one in this house goes hungry.”

“If it be no trouble…”

“No trouble at all. But if you don’t mind, perhaps you may join me in the kitchen,” he gestured towards the kitchen door, “my old legs don’t get me around quite as quickly as they used to.”

“But of course.”

“And maybe while we are there, we can make a dish for the misses as well, perhaps the aroma may wake her naturally and you can still get your interview.”

“That would be lovely.”

Elizabeth stood and walked to the old man’s side. After helping him from his chair, she began to walk him to the kitchen door. He stopped her just short of the door and turned to her, “we must take care to be silent as not to wake her before she wakes on her own.”

“I understand,” she replied with an excited grin on her face, “silent as a mouse.”

The two finally walked quietly into the kitchen. The room was pitch black with a very ominous feel that clung to her like rain soaked clothing. A stale stench filled her nostrils as the door behind them shut with a uncommonly loud click. It was about that time when she noticed that the old man was no longer beside her. She began to franticly wave her arms around her immediate area in hopes of finding him.

“Is this a joke?” she asked loudly as she continued her search, “if it is, I’m not very amused.”

“Relax my dear,” the man replied, his voice sounding as though it were coming in all directions, “I just need to find the light switch. It will be but just a moment.”

Elizabeth was frightened at this point but continued to feel her way through the dark until she finally found his hand and held it for dear life. “I am terribly scared of the dark, please hurry!”

“Ah!” he shouted, “Eureka!”

The lights suddenly turned on with a blinding glow. Elizabeth had to squint her eyes momentarily as she became accustomed to the glare. Once adjusted, she was finally able to focus on the man who was standing across the room from where she was.

“I’ve been meaning to have a switch placed closer to the door, will you forgive me?”

Suddenly, she began to wonder to herself that if he was across the room, who’s hand was she holding at the moment. She also noticed the cool clammy feeling the hand she held offered. She slowly turned and stared down at the hand and instantly began to scream.

The hand was attached to the body of an elderly woman who was laying pale on the kitchen counter. Her lifeless face was frozen with the look of extreme terror. But even more horrifying was that a portion of her leg looked as though it had been sheered with a kitchen blade.

As hard as she tried, Elizabeth could not tear her eyes off the woman as the old man approached her from behind, the sound of a kitchen knife being unsheathed from a wood block was nearly deafening.

“Well my dear,” the old man replied calmly, “you did say she was a woman of exquisite taste…or as it would turn out…a woman that taste…exquisite.”

Becoming Undead

I guess I got about five minutes or so, funny how your life really comes into prospective when facing your own death head on. Why on earth did I open that door? I’m such an idiot! Even the reports on TV said not to open your doors to anyone, especially this poor sap. My god I made a mess of him! He was pounding on the door moaning, I was afraid if I didn’t help him he’d of thought badly of me later. Little did I suspect that he was wanting to help himself to me. He wasn’t being polite about it either, bout chewed my arm off not even a moment from the time he stumbled in the door. I must have hit him at least a hundred times before I finally found my trusty Louisville Slugger beside the stove in the kitchen instead of the closet I normally keep it. No use telling my son to stop moving things around I guess. I must have hit him hard for his head to split open like that. He barely resembles the man I used to know from down the hallway. Now he just lying in a heap on my floor, head completely smashed in, and brain matter leaking all over the rug. Perhaps I should clean it before- NO… I will not spend the few fleeting moments I have left on earth cleaning up after this guy. I just feel really tired and need to retire to the living room and sit a spell. Maybe reflect for a moment, whatever good it may do me. In a few moments or so, I will be no better than this guy. I hope I’m too dumb to open a door so I don’t hurt anyone. I’d knock myself off, but I was stupid and sold my gun for cash at one of those buy back events. Didn’t even get what I paid for it. It’s funny, so some odd reason, I can’t seem to recall my childhood. Maybe it is an effect of the poison that now courses through my veins. Try to think man, think! Nothing. I can remember my wedding day though. Oh, what an awesome event, we had the most delicious chicken and…and…funny, that seems to elude me now as well. Good thing my wife is out of town with our son, she won’t have to worry about walking in on this mess right away. Hopefully someone will come in and off me before she returns. This chair feels amazing, always has but this time, wow! I can’t feel my legs. Guess this is how it ends, alone and numb from the waist down. My skin color is starting to change now too, all pale and greenish, and is that puss pouring out of my arm? Not to mention this god awful taste in my mouth and this now constant ringing in my ear. I can’t move now, I am completely numb and can do nothing but stare up at this ceiling, I always hated the color, wanted to paint it on a few occasions but… I hear something…daddy? Who could be…the sound of a kid’s voice is ringing in my head. It just keeps calling out… daddy, daddy, daddy…and another voice now…screaming. I want to cry for help, but right now…the only thing I can seem to think of is…this terrible, dreadful hunger…

Deceased Denise

Upon a stone one night she sat, a lovely corpse in midnight black.

And on that stone was etched “Denise”, and for seven years she’d been deceased.

The dress she wore was torn and frayed, her face was pale and part decayed.

Heavy on her heart did weigh, a chain that kept her there to stay.

It was her lover’s face she longed to see, to feel his kiss, to set her free.

But all she did was sit and cry, you see, she did not have her eyes.

Now not too far away from her, each night another corpse would stir.

He stared at her with silent breath, he’d loved her long before his death.

He’d try to reach her from his grave, but his own chains they never gave.

Each night he cried and called her name, each night the end result the same.

Never would he feel rejoice, you see, he had no throat or voice.

So forever they were cursed apart, forever never joining hearts.

A loathsome end to this saddened tale, of star crossed lovers whose love had failed

But for those who live and love they yearn, remember here a lesson learned.

And the moral of this tale I say, romance is never far away.

For those with eyes they need but seek, and those with voices need but speak.

~Terry James