Writing You


I’ll write you into my life

The words of your being

Etched in my heart


Written in my mind

And immortalised in prose

For generations without end


Your soul encoded in my skin

In words of love and longing

In blood and pen marked


Our story never ends

Nor did it have beginning

As it flows through life


Stories told through time

as old as ancient mountains

Tales of wonder and mystery


A river of words and dreams

In which we play and dance

Until the ink runs dry


The pages still will turn

Recalling our passing

A legacy of life together

The Beginnings of Uncertainty

Here we are then, in the early stages of the struggle to write and be published, having commenced my first novel in January 2014. From certainty to uncertainty, but with determination, the story so far;

My first novel, Ragged Hearts, was finished last year and, having done many edits and rewrites, it is ‘ready’ for publication; other than a cover. The work was planned in detail before commencing the first draft and it was completed according to that plan; both in terms of content and timescale.

From the start I planned to self publish but wanted to wait until my next novel was finished, having read that two books ‘out there’ has more power than twice one book. Correctly marketed each sells the other. Things really start to happen at four or five books, but that is too far in the future to contemplate.
The first draft of my second novel, The Sagittarius Incident, is currently at 71,000 words so it will be at least late summer before editing and rewriting is finished. That seemed like rather a long time for Ragged Hearts to sit around in nowhere land, and so;

I began reading about traditional publishing. I had thought about it already and what I read confirmed those thoughts, Essentially, as a new author the process of a publisher taking on your book is a good learning experience, with editors helping you to find yourself as a writer, cover designers, some built in marketing etc. Of course there is also the kudos of being published by a traditional publishing house and seeing your work physically present in a book store. It also states that your work must be of a pretty good standard (though there have been bad novels published). In the indie world one is competing against a vast sea of books and marketing is the key.

Much has been written about the pros and cons of indie vs traditional publishing but my belief is that a new writer is better off being published traditionally, unless you know you have a really savvy marketing plan. Once established it is a different story.

What to do?

The future.
Until the second book is fit for publication I am submitting Ragged Hearts to literary agents, having 6 submissions out there at any one time and with each rejection fire off another.

Rejection – How to handle it.
I believe in Ragged Hearts as a worthy novel but also have a sense of realism. Rejections will come, and they have, to date – 3, and I expect many more!
No worries. Persistence is king. I take heart from the countless examples of authors who have been rejected many, many times before finding success, from Stephen King to J K Rowling and countless others.

Of course, if I were to be taken on  by an agent that is far from the end of the story as they then have to sell to a publisher, A long and uncertain road. If Ragged Hearts hasn’t been taken up by the time The Sagittarius Incident is ready, 8 months or more, I’ll probably self publish both. Though that is subject to change, uncertainty 🙂

In the final analysis I believe hybrid publishing is the future, a mix of indie and traditional. I may just stick in there pursuing the traditional route!!

The Best You Can Be
It is natural to feel dejected in receiving a rejection. My initial reaction was ‘is it good enough?’ My self belief was temporarily shaken. I reread the submitted work and thought no, this is my very best right now. And that is all we can do, give it our best, the utmost of which we are capable. We are learning all the time, as I develop I am quite prepared to reach the stage where Ragged Hearts is given up as a lost cause, despite my current belief in it. Now, that would be painful considering the many months of work I have committed to it. But if I am a much better writer in 3 years time will it still be worthy? Realism friends, this is a hard path to tread. That is why, above all else, you must love writing for the sake of it. You would write even of you knew you would never be published.

I love it! Creating characters, stories, events and worlds; nothing quite like it 🙂

Do your art and let it rock!

Can you relate to this? I welcome comments regarding your own thoughts or experiences 🙂

The Tree



She walked alone through the forest
With senses alive, enlivened since
She set foot on the path of truth

She saw the beauty all around
The wonder of nature, raw and just
And breathed deep in its very life

She smelled the bark and wet leaves
The vines that grew beneath her feet
The scent of wild animals near but hidden

She tasted berries and fruits
Her tongue rejoiced in flavours Divine
Even tasted the air with its earthy fragrance

She touched the air, the trees and flowers
And heard every sound, above and below
At one with all she sat by an ancient tree to rest

Her spine eased against the rough bark
And her mind found peace throughout its touch
As she felt the energy of the forest become one

The tree knew her now, touching his soul
And found a way to speak in thought not word
The communion began and her eyes closed

The tree and the girl joined minds as one
Sharing their experience of varied lives
And her sight was raised to a new dimension

She saw and felt the mind of God within and without
The light of understanding blinded her for a time
Until she learned to let go and yield to its power

And then the wonder of true sight the tree showed her
Through ages if time it had stood bearing witness
To the seasons of birth life and death all played before it

She left that place with her heart afire with truth
And the wisdom of an old ragged tree in her bones
Then she began to teach and show others

Far and wide she travelled talking to all who would listen
Not many failed to lend their ear to her words
And those that heard told their friends the wondrous story

When enough understood a time of peace began
The tranquility of the forest known in town and city
As all lived in harmony like the tree and the earth
The mother of life

Shown The Narrow Way


Follow me
leave the wide straight road
find the narrow winding path
with unknown end
the course of mystics
saints, artists and poets
through age upon age
on the ultimate quest

Come with me
as I guide you through trails
long trod by brave souls
past dark caverns
and bottomless pits
darkness that tempts
along the way
but do not fear

Hold my hand
until we reach the treasure
the unfolding of beauty
fields of light we now walk
in warm sun amongst
soft grass and flowers
of every hue and colour
bright and joyful in life

Follow me now
to the eternal forest
though no sight of sky
there is light, see
from the trees themselves
stop and listen awhile
to the wisdom
of their ancient language

They tell of a time
before time was, before the fall
they have seen all that is
and all that will be
know this when you sit with them
they will give you solace
in grief or pain
these quiet watchers of eternity

Come let me show
all creatures in peace
the bird plays with cat
the chicken with the fox
and deer with lion
free from fear of man
no death nor killing here
true nature returns

Follow me now
to the clearing and sit awhile
speak of what you have seen
recall you left no footprint
remember how all are equal
free from the blinding shroud
of man’s technology
and machines

Now friend you know
I am glad you followed
but this place is not for us
no, you must return
to write, compose or paint
tell, all who will listen, what awaits
when they turn away from folly
to the truth of spirit.

In ages past
we lived free from burden
pain and fear of death
we walked and left no mark
we lived by the energy in the air
in love with the earth and all living things
to this glory we will return
I give you this promise

Go now friend, and show the way


Reflections of Time

Robert Jepson

Time slides by
Unforgiving as the power of tide
Yielding to no man
nor woman
nor child

The mirror tells a story
your story
of growth, and age, and decay
Cold glass reflects the eyes
but not the soul
enshrined behind the sagging flesh

Put self glory aside
Discard the looking glass
my beloved
For its vision is not mine
that of beauty radiant
the vibration
of your being
Beheld in the eyes of spirit

If the last mirror on earth
were shattered
never again
that false image

We will see our true wonder
As we look with yearning
into each other’s eyes
And see
our Love
reflected back

Illumined in passion and grace
piercing through the illusion
of sallow skin and
silver streaks
in hair now thin
Consummated joy in union
amongst the stars
For Eternity

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Turned in Blood – Flash Fiction


A short story for Chuck Wendig’s genre mash-up fiction challenge. The dice chose for me a combination of vampire erotica and noir detective!

Note, this is an erotic story with explicit sexual content.

Turned in Blood

The street corner offered limited shelter from the torrential rain. In the dark of the early evening Detective Frank Marston huddled under a doorway and took a long slug from the quarter bottle of whiskey, held like a precious trophy in his numb hands. He was digesting his latest misfortune; his bitch of a wife filing for divorce. This was on top of recently diagnosed prostate cancer, and a career which was slipping through his fingers.

He couldn’t do anything about the bitch, and the cancer was in the hands of specialists. All he could influence was Lieutenant William’s threat of demoting him back to uniform. At 38 years of age, but feeling 50, that would kill him if his prostate didn’t. He needed a new case, one he could get his teeth into and win.

“Fuck!” he said, then drained the bottle and tossed it in a trash can. He staggered the quarter mile back to the precinct, trying to avoid Williams, who usually worked late too; Frank new he looked and smelled like he’d been drinking.

He slunk back to his desk unnoticed and worked through a pile of paper work. After a few minutes he realized he hadn’t taken in a single word or fact. There seemed no point in staying, but where would he go? Since separating from the bitch he had moved out of their plush suburban home to a shitty little apartment on the wrong side of town, frequented by drug users and drunks. He never thought of classifying himself in the latter category.

He was about to leave, a seedy bar having won as the preferred destination over his apartment, when a colleague entered.

“Hey Frank, glad you’re here. New call just came in, a murder down Rose Avenue.”

Fuck, he thought, I could do without this now.

“Can’t you take it on Steve?”

“Sorry, I’m doing interviews, got some crazies to deal with. Look, uniform are down there now, they need someone pronto.”

“OK, OK, I’ll go.”

Rose Avenue was an up-market area, the realm of lawyers and financial types, with a sprinkling of the ‘arty’ class. It was too far to walk so he got behind the wheel of his car. He knew he was DUI but didn’t care. He weaved down the rain sodden streets, reflecting headlights and streetlights like a mirror, while nursing a strong black mug of coffee in one hand.

Uniform had cordoned off the area and had begun to preserve the scene, the officer guarding the entrance to the building waved him through.

“Where am I heading?”

“Third floor, apartment 13, Jack is up there.”

Frank climbed the stairs, he didn’t trust lifts. The door to the apartment was open but the room was dark.

“Any lights around here?” he called out.

An officer appeared from the shadows.

“Hi Frank, looks like the main fuse has blown, no power to anything.”

Frank took out his Maglite.

“Where’s the stiff?”

“Follow me. A bit weird this one.”

“How’s that Jack?”

“You’ll see.”

Frank’s torch beam scanned the bedroom and settled on the body of a female lying prostrate on the bed. He put her age at mid 30’s, smartly dressed and very attractive. He walked around the bed assessing, looking for those infinitesimal indications of importance that can be missed by the untrained eye. This was Frank’s strength and now he was back into the flow of what he did best. Then he saw what was strange; the smile on her face and two puncture wounds to her neck, with congealed blood running in a streak down her neck to a dried pool on the sheet.

“What have we got here then, a vampire killing?” Frank jested.

“There are no other injuries, she’s stone cold. Must have been dead for hours but the call only came through 25 minutes ago.”

“Who called it in?”

“Anonymous. There’s no sign of a struggle or anything taken, and no forced entry.”

“Have we got a name or any other details?” Frank asked.

“A quick look in her purse says she’s Claire Heart, single, a PR executive, that’s all we’ve got. Look, it’s a busy night, forensics should be here soon. Mind if myself and the lads leave you to it? I’ll leave Kelly at the front door.”

“No, go ahead; I’ll have a look around.”

Frank made a slow search of the apartment, room by room, trying to find a clue to the motive behind the murder. But there was nothing. A random killing or a lovers tiff perhaps? He felt it in his blood, his appetite was whetted, this was the case to change his course. He would stop drinking, for now.

He returned to the bedroom and had a cursory look through drawers and then the wardrobes. Suddenly he felt a presence and turned to see a woman looking at him, her eyes glowed with an eerie redness and the bed was empty. He recoiled in shock and drew his gun, pointing it and his torch at the apparition. The woman was standing three feet away and wasn’t moving. She just smiled. Crazy, but it had to be Claire, his thoughts were confirmed when he saw the marks on her neck. She licked her lips and Frank felt a strange sexual yearning. Claire looked down; she could obviously see the erection that was distorting his trousers.

She moved towards him but he backed away until he was pressed against the wall, almost in the corner, with nowhere else to go. She slowly reached for the gun and withdrew it from his hand, he offered no resistance.

“You don’t need that,” she purred. Her sultry voice was intoxicating and sexy.

Claire pressed her lips against his; they were cold, freezing, but moist. His tongue responded and his desire reached a new peak. A stinging sensation moved down his neck and she broke the kiss to examine her finger, dribbling with blood, his blood. She smiled and placed it in her mouth, sucked, and then moaned in orgasmic delight.

Frank was simultaneously scared and turned on as he noticed her enlarged canine teeth and the red eyes bore into him.

“What the hell is going on?” he said. “I thought you were dead.”

“Maybe I am,” she said.

Then she took his hand and led him to the bed. He moved like he was in a trance, yielding to fate. Her manner changed, turning from soft and feminine to aggressive as she stripped him of his clothes and hurriedly removed hers. She pushed him backwards onto the bed and, with a hungry look, bent down and took his raging cock into her mouth.

Frank moaned, all fear gave way to lust as she drew him in, the last vestiges of control and normality passing as her ice cold mouth milked him. Her fingers explored where no fingers had been before, except his proctologist’s lubricated glove. She became a wild animal possessed with an extreme sexuality, doing things to him, and making him do things to her, that he’d only read about, and some he hadn’t. She took him to heights of pleasure he’d never known before. He came, perhaps two or three times, he didn’t know, all he knew was the ecstasy of the moment, and then she mounted him.

As the soft, pink flesh of her hairless pussy engulfed him in its icy cavern he let out a gasp, it seemed she was consuming his entire being, not just his aching cock. Her fingers scratched and dug deep into his chest and stomach as she moved up and down, her pale breasts bouncing in rhythm. Lines of blood appeared which she licked from his chest and took up on her fingers, sucking each in turn. This drove her into a frenzy of passion, and she rode him with raw animal passion and abandon. How long this went on for he didn’t know but eventually she came, screaming like a demented feral cat. His final orgasm, it had to be the last surely, erupted, filling her belly with his seed and then she collapsed across him. Her mouth covered his and he tasted blood, his own. She gave him some, allowing it to trickle onto his tongue. Strange but erotic emotions flooded through him.

Frank felt as though he were in some timeless dream world, far away from the cares of the world, all problems gone. Sex had never been like this, not in his wildest dreams. What was the next move? They dozed, exhausted, and then the temperature of the room dropped and a breeze blew in despite the window being closed, it was followed by a rushing sound.

A figure appeared with familiar glowing eyes, this time bright yellow, like a wolf. Two long fangs, much longer than Claire’s, hung over her lower lip. Long jet black hair was tied back exposing a face almost white apart from dark circles around the eyes. A black cloak covered her entire torso.
Claire came to with a start.
“Mistress Lopi!”

“The master sent me to collect you and what do find? This human is for our use as a race, not for your personal pleasure, you haven’t even turned him yet! It would be useful to have one of us, like him, in the Police Department to further our cause. I’ll deal with you later. You’ve had your fun with him, now he’s mine!”

Lopi smiled; there was no pleasantness to it, just a look of sexual passion, intimidation and power. She pushed Claire off the bed with a flick of her index finger and then removed the cloak exposing the most beautiful body Frank had ever seen. What happened over the next round of sexual exploits exhausted Frank’s body and blew his mind as she used him any way she saw fit; performing acts that made Claire appear tame in comparison. Her physical strength was incredible; there was nothing he could do to resist. In the final moments, as the she was coming, Frank felt an intensely painful bite to his neck, which was held in a vice like grip until it spurred him to his own tumultuous orgasm and he passed out.

Frank awoke from a strange and lucid dream dominated by teeth and bizarre sexual practices. His watch indicated only fifteen minutes having passed since he arrived. Through the foggy haze of his mind he tried to remember. The girl was still on the bed next to him, lifeless, and his neck was sore. What the hell happened here? The answers never came. Only hints, in daydreams to come, would remind him of what happened. He walked out of the apartment into the black night and the endless rain.

Officer Kelly knew nothing of the events that took place, he heard no disturbance, but he did notice the vacant look on Franks face when he came out oft the building. The forensic team found no trace of the body, though Frank swore blind she was still on the bed when he left. Claire was eventually listed as a missing person, but was never seen or heard of again.

A week later a check up revealed that Frank’s cancer had disappeared, the consultant was astounded. Frank had never felt stronger, and he was smarter. He excelled at work, new powers working to his advantage. But now he could only ever work between sunset and sunrise.

Heart Speak


Gentle lips yearn
to be kissed
and tasted
moist and sweet
the touch is ecstasy

Her undulating curves
soft, smooth, pliant
delight my eyes
beckoning fingers
to roam and explore
that fair landscape

If I were blind
Such sense alone
Would thrill
And fill my mind
With her beauty

Happy in her warmth
her enchanting smile
reaches my heart
my days bright
when she is close

Her gentle care
soothes and caresses
bringing peace and calm
quieting the whirl
of life’s toils

Entwined at night
as one, safe, secure
held tenderly
her body gives
with love

Her kind spirit
my kindred spirit
through whom I see
the salvation
of purpose

From the beginning
she held my heart
captured in her light
as a small bird
in a soothing hand

I need for nothing
in her presence
all is fulfilled
my inspiration
love and joy