The Death Wizard Chronicles is back!

My six-book epic fantasy series titled The Death Wizard Chronicles has been accepted for publication by Bell Bridge Books, an imprint of established fiction publisher BelleBooks. Book 1 is scheduled to be published in August 2012, with subsequent books coming out in relatively quick fashion. I could not be more pleased and excited. This is a dream come true for me in so, so many ways.

Newest novel will give you the creeps

My latest novel, a scary, sexy ghost story called Dream House, is now available as an e-book. It is being distributed by Out of Bounds Press. Order it here.

Here is an excerpt:


Greg collapsed to his knees, and he was squeezing his right wrist with his left hand. His right index finger was pointing skyward, as if blaming the heavens for his unexpected predicament. I felt bile rising in my throat. The finger had become nothing but bare bone, yet somehow it still wriggled.

Greg was screaming, a high-pitched female scream, and then he looked at me with pleading eyes, as if begging me to make it all stop, to take it all back. I took out my cell phone and dialed 911, but when I held the phone to my ear it squealed so sharply I cast it away, and it plunked into the now broiling water. A small geyser followed, as if I had tossed a live hand grenade into the green muck.

I staggered toward Greg with tears in my eyes, and my legs felt heavy as sodden wood. Now he was bent over, his face between his knees but his finger still pointed straight out. Only now even the bone was dissolving, and it smoked like the end of a lit cigarette.

“What’s happening?” I said, sounding as pathetic as a little boy. But I seemed to have nothing else to offer. Then I saw Greg’s cell phone in a case attached to his belt, and I took it out and dialed 911 again. The same squealing, as loud as a siren, caused me to cast the phone down. Only this time the phone hit a root and shattered like glass on terrazzo.

Suddenly I felt the urge to run. I could make it back to my house in just a few minutes, call the police from there, and then wait at the house while they went to Greg’s rescue. Or I could even lead them to the opening in the trees and wait there. After all, I would only get in the way if I tried to help further. Leave it to the pros, right? But Greg was in serious trouble. Now he was puking. As terrified as I was, I had to do something.

I leaned over, grabbed his left bicep, and in a fit of super-crazed strength yanked the man to his feet. His face was pale, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. I’ve never seen anyone look quite so terrified. Perhaps my face mirrored his.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I said. But it was as if I was shouting into hurricane-force winds that muffled the words.

Still, he seemed to hear me. He nodded weakly and then leaned toward the opening where we had entered the now-nightmarish cove. But as soon as he did that, something occurred that was more frightening than anything I had yet encountered, even dwarfing the face in the bathroom window. All the strength left my limbs, and I fell back on my rump and began to whimper. A pink-skinned arm, tiny yet impossibly strong, sprang from the green gook, and a hand the size of a baby’s somehow seized enough of Greg’s skinny ankle to pull him into the water.

In just a few seconds, he was dragged beneath the surface.

He pleaded with me before he went under.

“Help me!” he squealed.

Then he was gone.