Zombie Story

I’m working on this story at last with the goal of getting it out there by the end of summer. In an effort to grow as a writer I’m trying to do some things differently. I’m going for first person for this piece and also really trying to nail the voice. I’ve been pretty serious and dramatic in my writing so far but I’m actually pretty freaking funny most days so I would love to transfer that into my writing. With that… here’s the first paragraph of the story in which I’m trying to nail both…

“I’m not much of a story teller to be honest. But seeing as how I’m basically the hero of the story, it’s sort of mine to tell. I didn’t want to have someone else write it anyways. First of all because they would probably mess it up, and second of all because that would mean I would have to reveal who I really am and it may sound crazy but I don’t really want anyone to find out because I’m not sure what they would do to me. The whole thing was kind of unbelievable anyways and so it would be easy to make me disappear or discredit me because I was never very important and I probably shouldn’t have made it out anyways. But that’s why you’re reading this. You want to know how I survived. You want to hear from the guy who made it. You want to read the story of the man who conquered the zombies. You want to know what really happened because there are a lot of accounts of that event that are confusing or worse, “official.” But there is only one true story and I have it. So, you’re reading the right story and I don’t really care if you believe it or not. It happened all the same.”

Sour grapes

From book 1 in the Sureshot trilogy The Sureshot Rises

“You there,” the middle one began, “you are that woodsman that shot against Captain Tarbon today?”

“What business is it of yours?” asked Durbar trying to act tough in the hope that he could intimidate them into leaving him alone.

“I’ll tell you what business it is of ours,” returned the man, his voice a growl like a dog about to bite, “He is our captain, and we don’t like any dirty woodsman disrespecting him like you did.”

“I didn’t disrespect him. I just beat him, that’s all,” Durbar reasoned.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. You shouldn’ a done that. Now we are gunna beat you!”

The man’s eyes flared in rage. He and his friends all clenched their fists. Durbar tried to think of a way out quickly, but he couldn’t find one. He leapt out of his chair and stood ready, with his back against the wall. One of the men threw the table out of the way, and the other two jumped at the bowman. One swung at his face, but his movements were too slow and laborious because of too much drink. Durbar ducked and hit the man in the gut. Another one swung to hit his face as he was coming up but Durbar blocked his high punch with his left arm and jabbed him in the face with his right fist. With two of the men temporarily disabled and falling to the floor, Durbar turned to the one that threw the table, but as he turned to face him, a chair crashed into his head. Durbar’s vision, along with his mind, went black.

New Kid in Town

From The Sureshot Rises book 1 in my Sureshot trilogy.

The huge man towered above Durbar by about five inches. He glared down at him with fiery blue eyes. His face was square and flat and looked to Durbar as if it had been pressed that way.

“So, this is the man Rothan thinks is better than me, eh?” he questioned in a deep voice, almost a growl.

“The prince’s opinions are his own,” answered Durbar.

“Well, what do you think?” Tarbon asked pointing a finger at Durbar’s chest.

“I know that I am better than you.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” the man roared leaning back, holding his belly with one hand as if to keep it from bursting open. “And how do you know that? You just met me and you have never seen me shoot.”

“I saw you just now.”

“And after just one shot you know you can beat me?”


“Well, if you are so sure, Mister Sureshot, then let’s have a little competition right now.”

Durbar was really starting to hate his new alias. “I will not decline,” he answered confidently.



My heart was young and green 

So full of life and love 

I thought you were a queen 

Sent to me from above 

Turns out you’re born below

Complete with pair of horns

Instead of a halo 

A rose covered in thorns

Ever thirsty for blood

A vampire in the night 

A monster from the mud

Giving children a fright

My heart ripe for reaping 

The fertile crop was torched

On my knees just weeping 

My loving heart was scorched

Spreading her leather wings

Her laughter filled my head

Singing a wicked song

Spat and left me for dead

From his Cage

From The Sureshot Rises, available on Amazon!

High above the trees, free from their grip, a single hawk glided effortlessly, sharp eyes scanning for prey. Silently the bird rode the air current and used it to carry him where he wanted. Durbar studied him with envy for a long minute through a window in the trees, crisscrossing like bars from a cage. The hawk suddenly folded his wings, darted towards the earth and out of Durbar’s sight for a moment, then returned to the sky with a hare in his claws. Durbar smiled at the bird of prey as it floated off to his nest to enjoy his meal in peace and freedom, a twinge of jealousy and unfulfilled desire stung the young man’s heart.

Fathers Day

Many names I’ve been called

A few titles I’ve been given 

Some were deserved 

Others spat with venom 

None are more meaningful

Than all of the others

For when a child’s born 

They began to call me father

It’s a title given out

With much ease at first

As I stood by at witnessed

My children’s births

But it’s a life’s commitment

Of sacrifice and effort

To deserve the title

And hold it high with honor 

It’s one I’ll carry

For my lifetime 

I’ll wear it proudly 

For my children are ever mine 

To protect and nurture 

Educate and guide 

Nothing more could ever

Fill my heart with greater pride


I’ve always been a man who enjoys a drink.

I like to sip on ice cold beverage.

Whether beer or wine, or lemonade pink.

I’ll sip something new without much courage.

But I’ve not found one as satisfying.

Than the one you handed me late one night.

It’s aroma is intoxicating.

And it’s flavor is quite a nice delight. 

It’s gentle affect warmed me to the core.

It lightens my mood and brightens my day.

No matter how much I’ve had I want more.

What its full affects are I cannot say.

All I know is, your love has made me drunk.

And it’s put my mind in a complete funk.

The Lone Pine Inn

From my first full length novel The Sureshot Rises

Durbar pulled his cloak over his head and began to walk to the east end of town, toward the keep and the garrison. The inn wasn’t far from the Harmon Keep. Durbar found it without a problem. The sign above the doorway had a picture of a large solitary pine on a hill. It looked like a mighty giant standing defiantly against his foes; its branches appeared as swords ready to attack. From outside, the inn seemed to be rather busy and there was a noise like the rushing of a great river flowing from the patrons inside. Light invitingly escaped from the cracks in the large double doors. Durbar drew a deep breath and stepped through the doors into the light.

The Lone Pine was a large place. There were a lot of tables throughout the room with a small stage in one corner. In the middle of the back wall was a bar. There were a couple of women serving drinks to patrons. Large chandeliers hung from the ceiling that held four small torches each. There were also torches on the walls. Large buck antlers adorned the walls and furs covered the floor. A huge bear pelt hung on the wall behind the bar. To the left of the bar, while facing it, there were stairs, which led up to the rooms. There were twelve rooms altogether. The innkeeper and his wife lived in one and their daughter in another. The other ten were for guests. The inn was bright and loud. It felt alive to Durbar, very different from the lonely cabin, lost in the woods and lost from the world.

Some people stopped their conversation when Durbar entered the room and stared at the dark, cloaked woodsman. He stood for a moment by the doorway scanning the scene before him. He noticed a crowd of people in the far right-hand corner. He didn’t see Prince Rothan anywhere else so he thought he would pass by to see if he was at that table. 

Durbar weaved his way through tables, chairs, and people toward the corner table. As he approached, some of the people standing by it noticed him moving toward them and stepped back whispering alarm to the others. As more people saw Durbar, the crowd parted to avoid his path, which led directly to the prince. Some thought that he might be an assassin sent to kill Rothan. No one could see Durbar’s face because he had his cloak pulled far over his head. Rothan had his guards with him, and as they saw Durbar they stood up, drew their swords, and waited for the approaching man to make a move. All the people between and near them scattered with the threat of violence. Durbar stopped just before the table and paused for a moment. Rothan called out to him as he too stood up, drawing a dagger from his belt, “Who are you? Identify yourself! Why have you come here to threaten me?”

“I have threatened no one, and I am here by your request,” Durbar answered voice clear and strong but forced as his spirit sounded the alarm and the hairs on his neck and arms stood up. Durbar’s eyes darted from one person to another and then back to Rothan. He felt like a hare surrounded by foxes and though he froze in his tracks, his heart raced and his gut told him to flee. Suppressing the trembles deep within, he stood tall.

“What?” shouted Rothan. “Who are you? Tell me now!”  Durbar slowly raised a hand to the hood of his cloak and pulled it from his head revealing his face. Everyone just stood still, waiting for Rothan’s response. He himself was searching for the man’s identity. Then it struck him.

“You…” he began, “you are the man we found in the forest. You are the one who shot Jeshker’s cap from his head. You are Sureshot!” A wide grin crept across the prince’s face.

“Sureshot?” asked Durbar, eyes squinted and brow wrinkled.

“Yes, that’s what I have been calling you because I never got your name,” blurted Rothan.


I’m like a wild beast, dangerous, untamed.

Oft prowling the plains looking for a meal.

Many have tried to catch me but I’m unchained.

Several times entombed but I broke the seal.

Free from the chains of a relationship.

A stallion with no bridal in my mouth.

No saddle on my back, no ropes, no bit.

I have no worries, no fears nor a doubt.

Until you the beast tamer found me free.

First you lured me with sweet outs and grain.

Your love and kindness brought me to a knee.

You whispered softly as you stroked my mane.

And now I gladly stay inside your barn.

Forever happy with your grace and charm.

Little Bullfrog

Little bullfrog 

What makes you croak? 

You complaining? 

Or do you gloat? 

I like your song

So loud and deep

Will you come out? 

So we can meet? 

I’d love to learn 

Your special notes

In your green pond

You love to float 

Life’s so simple

Among the reeds

All of your days

Filling your needs

Just eat some bugs

Swim all day long

Enjoy the sun 

And sing your song