From the pages
"Does anyone ever plan to get arrested for murder? Is it possible to forget, to block out, the act of killing someone? These questions circled Gary's brain, his head lay down on a cold, steel bench. He spent the night in a holding cell, at best a couple hours of sleep here and there. Turns out a holding cell isn't exactly quiet, or comfortable. You feel the cold, frigidness of everything creep through your skin, into your bones. All of the concrete, steel, clinking—it all seeps in deep. Talk about discomfort."
— The Vanishing Act
The Fiction
There are entire universes inside my head that I can only put on the page.
Psychological fiction that lives between the comfortable and uncomfortable.