The Fall Of The New

It’s thick outside, and less inviting than a YMCA dressing room. The one as a kid where the saggy-balled Association attempted to Christen the Young Men. No wonder they all rally around that song. Kudos to the Village People for a sudden royalty resurgence. I hope they all bought something cool.

Not a good day for picnics, so I had one anyway. Magic songs, or inspirational throat garbage. Yet to be determined. At least I’m out in nature. That’s all I really wanted. To get on the other side of the window.

There’s no one else in this vast park other than the lead singer of Warrant walking his dog, but he’s dead. No, just a skank and a stray. Call it Bishop Arts all you want, but it’s wrapped in a toasty, Oak Cliff blanket.

And here comes the dog to beg for my food. I can’t have nice things.

Why does it want my weekly Jack In The Box? The dog, I mean. I stopped buying Bacon Ultimate Cheeseburgers for skanks a long time ago. It plops down at my feet as though it expects me to bow to its will. Insanity. I have food for myself, and dogs have eaten sh*t from the cat box in my presence. More than once, meaning they liked it. To me, that translates into, “go find a dead skunk and piss off!”

Did anyone else read that like Napoleon Dynamite? You just did! It’s like those billboards about advertising, but they’re advertising the advertising.

Why I imagine dogs were domesticated: white men needed someone to scream at and kick, in or around 1865, plus the addition of women’s rights, and the opening of Child Protective Services. Well sh*t, Bubba-Earl. What are we going to do now? Solution: Wolves, but watered down versions with less alcohol; like Oklahoma beer.

Stop. I should stop. I only half-heartedly mean any of this. Which half is debatable.

A dog is an animal, and I love ALL animals. There’s a snake five feet away from my writing desk, and a cat in my bathroom window. I also have an eleven year old boy who’s almost as tall as me. He’s all the animal I can handle in my current life.

That said, I really don’t hate dogs…

I hate what people with money in America think a dog should be. If you’re from the country, and you believe my claims require any type of validation, go to Central Park at 9am on a springtime Saturday. If you can’t jump a plane, there’s dozens of livestreams on the internet. You and your dog should attend therapy afterward; together.

Cats are different. They were brought here by the others as observation devices. YouTube it. Totally a thing.

Dogs? Smelly, unsanitary, and rude. We deserve each other, actually. Dogs and humanity. Some of them sh*t bigger than us. Once more; I love all animals. I love them more than humans; with the exception of my own tribe. I could NOT shoot a dog…

but…

Hear me out.

Here’s the game changer.

You guys do know they’ll mostly all be part of roving gangs of starved killing machines when society collapses, right? Hollywood says they’ll be loyal to the end. The call of the wild screams so much louder. They’ll kill and eat the weakest among themselves if need be. Hell, so would we. Dogs, I mean. Some of us would eat a dog if we had to. Just a nibble.

My former mate’s dog bit me, so I bit her back. Freaked her the f*ck out. The dog, and the woman! Then her ferret crawled down the back of someone’s pants. It’s a long, convoluted story. Some other time, perhaps.

I’d like to recommend we stop naming our food as soon as possible, so it won’t be such a big deal on disclosure day. Isn’t that right, Fluffy, or Dinner?

Snap. Reality beckons, like my mom trying to get my attention in a parking lot full of moms. Not now, but back in the gap. Elementary school, and blinded by the shrubberies. Those guys must’ve called Roger.

There’s a sprinkling of rain upon my skin as the temperature drops noticeably. Stop teasing; the dude on the box says you’re not happening until tomorrow. Texas weather and dogs occupy likened categories; brainless & slobbering profusely.

Now, nosey contractors (not City) eyeball me from behind their perch. If only my Kool Aid were of a flavor in which they were aware. I hate silly, complicated sentences to describe dolts, but we must keep it PG for the office.

Worst spies ever… in bright safety vests. I can’t tell if he’s filming me. Does Dallas offer narc bonuses to their eyes abroad? Why should I even make this my business?

The better question is…

How far should I take my interests? How much energy could I spare for monumental shenanigans? Will I still have movie nights?

It’s halfway through October, and I’m just now watching a classic. I’ve noticed I’m losing interest in movies. Also, I haven’t been to a hockey game in years, and the arena is basically walking distance. I haven’t even watched a game on television. It’s trippy.

I really don’t miss them, either. Day to day life is so conflicting now. Why spend my spare time viewing others?

A decade ago, maybe more; I’d seen a dozen horror flicks by now, and spent the night in two separate cemeteries. I was so hungry. I’ve discovered since then that there are individuals in our society a dozen times more vile than any monster in any closet…and they’re obviously un-bustable. Ghosts should investigate them instead.

I thought werewolf orgies only happened on Valentine’s Day? Sam is my spirit animal.

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As much as I’d prefer you purchase these directly from me, they’re also available through Amazon and various other book sellers.

To most, 1865 was an eye-opening year. The American Civil War was officially over and the soldiers fortunate enough to survive the bloody conflict returned home to collect the pieces of their former lives. To young Arizonan, Robert Jack, the fateful desert homecoming marked the end to all he once knew. Forgiveness is overrated. Death is final. Revenge, however, dances between the fine lines of mortality and eternity. Love always finds a way.

The Dime Western Returns!

“Reading Jim Walker and the Redemption Hymn is equal parts quirky fun and riveting action. Cloud’s confident, entertaining voice draws the reader in like an old radio western: the perfect bite-sized story with a main character you’re ready to follow through every adventure he finds himself on. So, tune in next time…”

– Megan Stockton, author of Lovely, Dark & Deep

The history books would read that Jim Walker was brutally executed after the Battle of Goliad, but a few promises in the right ear blurred the contrast between blood and ink. Now an aging bounty hunter on the verge of retirement, his services are requested in the Northern Arizona Territory to solve the terrifying mystery of the Verde River Massacre. With guns from a local Deputy, courage from a saloon proprietor, and a deathbed confession from an all-too-familiar Medicine Woman, Jim sets off on what could be his final adventure. Will he lay the ghosts of his past to rest once and for all, or is he simply whistling his Redemption Hymn?

“Someone call DC and tell them this is how you write a female hero character!” – Lisa Lee Tone, Bibliophelia Templum

Angel Burns is a young firefighter with a shrouded history. During a routine night at work, she stumbles upon a demonic ceremony that brings her memories out of hiding – as well as her repressed supernatural powers. Angel soon learns her life was intended for things greater than extinguishing fires for mortals. Now on the payroll of the Vatican, Angel embarks upon an epic quest to protect the Gutenberg Bibles from evil. If successful, she will secure peace for generations. If she fails, the power of the ancient books will bestow an eternity of darkness upon all humanity!

Toby Liberman is nearing the end of his rope. After a fateful confrontation with his wife’s lover, he is chased into the woods only to be discovered by an unidentifiable creature. He is attacked and rendered unconscious. Upon waking at the scene of a gruesome triple homicide, Toby is arrested as the sole suspect and thrown into a jail cell with a strange man that knows way too much about his predicament. The stranger reveals to Toby that he now possesses the curse of the werewolf. Using his new-found strength to flee his captors, Toby begins to discover that things are not what they seem in the sleepy town of Twin Oaks, TX. Now hunted by law enforcement, as well as the town’s gun toting civilians, Toby seeks vengeance against his false accusers and embarks upon a quest to clear his name once and for all.

A Curse Beyond Comprehension. A Power Beyond Belief. A Girl Far From Home. Katie Liberman is your typical eighteen-year-old college student…or at least that’s what her family thinks. Picking up five years after the events of A Taste of Home, Katie has dropped out of school and embarked upon a dangerous quest to find Kurt Jimmerson, the New York City attorney responsible for her family’s werewolf curse. Unknown to her, the attorney’s grip on the ‘City That Never Sleeps’ is tighter than imagined and she’ll need any and all help available to be victorious. But… where do you find friends when you’re Far From Home?

Twin Oaks, Texas is at war! Taking place immediately after the Far From Home events in New York City, Katie Liberman has returned to rescue her birthplace from the clutches of her nemesis. As the paranormal battle of North vs. South rages in the shadows, the tiny town must decide to fight against the odds or become one with the darkness. Blood will be shed and only one will survive as the final battle of the Home Series concludes.

I know this is the part where I’m supposed to talk about the book, but I feel as though the synopsis needs its own preface to truly understand. 2023 was quite an eye-opening year! I began it by living my dream as a vintage steam locomotive fireman, but that dream was soon squashed thanks to my writing career. It won’t matter that you wrote your extreme horror offerings years ago and under a pen name. Also, it won’t matter that your publisher and author friends from days gone by express pleasantries and kind, nurturing words to your face, because they’ll clique-up and talk trash the minute you turn your back. F**k the biz, create. Create for art, not clicks. Click for love, not hate. Those are words true artists should have no issues living by, yet most seem to hide behind their keyboard shields, flinging ill-thought words of destruction toward once-trusted ears. Don’t pour something into everything; pour everything into something. Do it all by yourself if necessary. With any luck, 2024 will be the year of The Reverend. I’m not exactly sure what that means yet, but we’ll find out together. Anyway, here are a few short stories and poems I wrote as C. Derick Miller in 2023. I stole them from myself. Fair and square. Enjoy.

Poetry has always come naturally to me. Whether it is an expression of emotion toward someone I care about, or a display of humor pointed in the direction of those I loathe, it is my true outlet. Several of these works were written in a passenger seat while exploring the highways of the United States and somehow managed to survive “The Great Ex-Wife/Ex-Girlfriend Poetry Purge” of 2019. Others were penned during COVID-19 quarantine. Although it may not be the most epic poetry collection you’ve ever read, it all contains bits of blood and soul. You will feel something. Guaranteed.

“This profound collection of horror brings classic monsters into new light in the modern day” – B.L. Blankenship, God Walks The Dark Hills series.

The modern world is a crazy place. Worrying about childish politicians, empty grocery store shelves, and our pending membership to the “global disease of the week” club, it leaves very little time for the average reader to finish an entire novel. This is where Six from Five Seven: Short Stories from a Short Man comes in clutch! A story per day to keep the impending apocalypse away, with a single day left over to contemplate why you purchased this book in the first place. That sounds like an entertaining week when compared to the one you were destined to have regardless. What do a cursed husband, a privileged brat, a curious prostitute, a repressed savior, a vengeful son, and two hell-bound soldiers have in common? Their stories lie within the pages of this collection and invite you to tag along on their journeys of fate, redemption, and demise. When finished, you, dear reader, can hide this book inside your basement with the rest of those important documents you wished you’d never taken home. The FBI won’t be happy, but at least they’ll know you’re a cool person for owning a copy while conducting the raid. That must count for something, right? Let’s hope the judge thinks so!

Also, there’s a few other things not listed here that are floating around out there. Best of luck with the hunt.