Here’s a little teases from my new book, Splintered Dreams.


This comes from “The Storyroom”…

On the whiteboard, Hanna wrote in large block letters “TIME TRAVEL.”
“The hell?” Cooper said. “You’re joking, right? Time travel stories will kick our ass.”
“What’s wrong with time travel stories?” Christian asked, as he used his pen to trace over the drawings in his anime comic.
“It… will… kick… our… ass.”
Christian looked up from his doodling. “Yes, you said that already. I mean, what do you mean, they will kick our ass?”

This comes from the story “A Winter Crossing“…

In those times, when the sun would drop behind the ancient and broken mountains, the bridge became unfamiliar and cast a stifling pall on those who dared cross. Even to this day, it is said traversing the bridge alone at the end of a winter’s day is to invite frost demons. This is what adults tell each other. Then they laugh, and hoist mead or mulled wine in heavy mugs and whisper ‘fairy tales,’ at the oft-repeated warning. Yet their eyes dart and their tongues lick cracked lips and they share the secret conviction that perhaps labeling something a ‘fairy tale’ is not the same as labeling something untrue.

from the story “Yellow Fog

She’s little, like a midget, only we aren’t supposed to say “midget”. She’s not a midget…. Oops… not a midget anyways. Oops, sorry. And she’s always in her chair. The one that holds her head. It’s got a MOTOR! Woohoo! She lets me sit on it with her and race down the hallway sometimes. But we mustn’t tell anyone. NO nosiree! Then we’d be in trouble for sure.
Yes, ok, the yellow was like… ok, it was like if you rub a yellow flower under your chin to see if you like butter? Do you do that? Well, the yellow comes off like the yellow the fog leaves on you. Do you like dogs? The groundskeeper, Mr. Jack, he has a dog, only it’s a secret. He keeps it in a cardboard box in his room in the basement and he let me pet it once. It was soft. Really soft. He said it was a laboratory believer. That’s the kind of dog. Only it’s a puppy. That’s a baby dog. The puppy’s head didn’t explode. I heard him barking like crazy so I opened the door in the basement and I found Mr. Jack and he was asleep with his head like a juice pack, like Miss Sullivan. She’s pretty.

you can find the book here: