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This morning I went through an old flash drive and found quite a few of my old writings. (I’m sure there is a lesson for me to learn here, but right now it evades me.) As I scrolled through the different files this piece jumped out at me. I won’t call it a poem because honestly, I’m not a poet. I know it.

Poetry is a different art form from what I write. Poets amaze me at how they can spin a story with a small amount of words. To them I salute you while I wait – not so patiently – for the next amazing piece of your art form.*

*Cough-Cough, you know who you are and yes that was a great big hint. 😉

You will find the piece that jumped out at me below. I hope you like it.

Darkness to Light
By: Violet Tempest

Shadows fall around me.
Light fades fast.
Worry that my past hides
There, in the shadows.
Frozen, unable to move
I fear the worst.
Are monsters hiding there?
I don’t want to know.
Safety, where do I search?
Light runs fast
Chased by Darkness.
Unable to stand the anxiety,
Crying out for safety,
For love,
For Light.
Hear my cries.
Hear my fear.
Light shines into the darkness.
A lone beam,
Small at first,
Small yet strong.
Grows in size
Grows in strength and warmth.
Grows and chases Darkness away.
Shadows grow smaller,
Monsters, run and hide.
I’m bathed in the light,
Safe, secure, loved at last.


Local Horror Writer Violet Tempest

Would you like to hear the music I listen to while writing the first book in this series? Click on the link and it will carry you right to it.

Abbadon: Book One

What are your plans for this year? Are they to improve your health? Save more money? Buy a new house? Spend more time with your loved ones? All are good choices that’s for sure, but what ever you have planned for 2018 I hope you accomplish your goals.

For my family and I we have planned to do all of the above, and of course I’ve got a few writing goals to boot. Abbadon should see the light of day no later than Halloween, which, in my opinion, is a perfect release date to aspire to. Here’s a blurb for Abbadon:


‘When her daughter goes missing, single-mother, Marcelina (Marcey) Wiloetta Florek thought for sure the police would help find her. Little did she know that the police would never look beyond her and her mother, whom they lived with since Victoria’s birth seven years earlier.

A year later, with her daughter still missing, Marcey has become the neighborhood pariah, not even able to go into the yard due to the scorn of people, who at one time she thought were her friends as well as neighbors. When the anniversary of Vicky’s disappearance comes around Marcey receives a package that contains a picture of her daughter, a stuffed animal, and a letter that reveals clues as to what happened on that fateful day one year ago. Not trusting the police with the material Marcey decides to look elsewhere for help, going to the only friend she has left, Paul, to help her decipher the clues and find her child.

The letter sets Marcey on a path that should lead to her heart’s desire but instead leads her down a dark and twisted trail of blood, sacrifice, and murder.


Last week I did manage to finish the third chapter of Abbadon and send it off to my critique partner. This was done while still feeling the affects of anesthesia so I’m hoping it made sense and won’t have to be a complete rewrite instead of a nice revision/editing process.
After that I haven’t been able to write due to pain and fatigue, note: when doctors tell you that a surgery is simple and you will bounce right back, it means you will experience excruciating pain for at least four days afterward which will result in a severe lack of sleep.
This week, I plan on writing for two hours everyday. Whether it takes place during the afternoon at the shop or I have to stay up late to meet my time goal. Personally, I’m shooting for the afternoon because I’m still groggy and fatigued as all get out.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

The First Time

How did I become an enthusiast? Maybe it is my love of the unusual. Or maybe since I was a child I’ve sensed and seen things others couldn’t, or maybe it’s a combination. Who knows?  I do know is there are apparitions all around us, no matter where we go; some are connected to this world by the land, some by an inanimate object, and some attach themselves to people.

I have experienced apparitions and demonic beings.

There are some who say, “Oh it’s all in your head,” or “Things like that don’t exist.”  and my all-time favorite, “You’re evil and will burn in Hell!”

Of course, they are entitled to their opinions, but I chuckle while shaking my head at their comments, especially when they bring the Bible into it.

And some do.

Yet if they bothered to pick up their Bibles and turn to Acts 19: 11-15 they would clearly see spirits mentioned there.

When I think back, my earliest memory is from when I was six years old, not long after my parents moved us into a new house. Even though it was recently built, land in the South is rich in Revolutionary, and Civil War history and that spot seemed to vibrate with energy.

Francis Marion – The Swamp Fox led his troops throughout the swamp lands and forests of South Carolina. Charleston was on the front line during the Civil War, and when you add in the Native American tribes who lived here long before any European settlers, the land is imbued with enough strong energy to draw different spirits and entities to it.

We hadn’t lived in the house for long, just a couple of months. The night was like any other night, no storms whose thunder would shake the window panes and no strikes of lightening to flash beams of light across the darkened room.

Page 11 of Legends of Old.

To find out how The First Time ends purchase your e-copy or paperback through the link below.

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The Old Charleston Jail

The Old Charleston Jail, located at 21 Magazine St, Charleston, SC, is well known to the locals as being haunted. Some refuse to go near this structure while thrill seekers buy tickets from Bulldog Tours1 for the guided tours. The long history of this jail does give creditability to its many hauntings. Having been used as a prison for over 200 years there was a great deal of suffering that occurred on the grounds and in the cells.

Lavina Fisher is the most well-known. Her tale starts back in 1819 when she and her husband John ran an inn, the “Six Mile House.” 2 A guest by the name of John Peoples stopped at the inn one evening for a rest after traveling all day by horse-drawn wagon from Georgia. He was greeted by the beautiful Lavina who offered him a glass of tea. The tale goes that he accepted the glass but didn’t drink from it. During small talk the couple started asking questions about how much money he carried on him, about his personal valuables, etc. This made Peoples nervous, and he retired to his room early and instead of sleeping in the bed chose to sleep in a chair by the door.

He was awakened in the middle of the night by a strange noise and discovered the bed disappearing into a hole in the floor.  Through the opening enough light shown to allow him to see a gruesome sight. Piles and piles of bones. As you can imagine this terrified the man so out through an open window he went, jumped on a horse, before riding off into the night.

He made his way to the Charleston Sheriff’s office where he told the authorities about his horrifying experience. The sheriff and a group of deputized citizens rushed to the inn where they conducted a thorough search of the house. A bone pit was discovered where Peoples said it would be located, right under the room he’d stayed in. The tea was discovered to contain an herb that would have sent Peoples into a deep sleep for hours.

Page 72 of Legends of Old.

To find out more about this legend purchase your e-copy or paperback copy below.

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*This is a sample from one of the short stories included in the bonus section in Legends of Old.

*An Interview
“Deep shadows from her high cheekbones jutting out of her pale skin matched her dark hair that fell across her face, hiding eyes that hadn’t shined with radiance in a long time. I watched her, sitting on the edge of the tub, waiting for Depression to take her further into the dark abyss. There wasn’t any rush. In fact, if done quickly it might not take, and I couldn’t have that.” The Creature said. Her voice feels like silk, each word caresses my ears, causing my skin to tingle; from fear or anticipation I cannot say.

“How long had you been with her?” I ask, my voice trembles, betraying my fear. She looks at me right into my soul.

“How long? Ah yes, you humans are always concerned about time. How many minutes it takes to do each, little, insignificant, boring thing that you do in life. You seem incapable of just appreciating, savoring each moment of life. . . and death. To me time has no meaning, not like it does for you. You ask how long I had been with her when really you should ask how well I knew her.” The Creature’s eyes dance with amusement and I can’t help but think there’s a hidden joke somewhere in there. I make a note to ponder it later when I play the tape back, looking for the best tidbits to put in the article. Right now I need to keep her talking, telling me how she does it, how she works her magick and seduces her prey.

“Okay, how well did you know her?”

She moves her head, sneering at the other creatures sitting in the dark corner on a worn sofa before looking back at me. Her contempt laden reply gives me cause to hope that I am never the object she looks upon with such disdain. “How well do you know your loved ones? How well do my co-workers theirs? I knew her as well as you know yourself. Every breath, every beat of her heart, and every thought in her mind, I knew better than she herself did.

Page 110 of Legends of Old.

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