Wednesday, December 20, 2006

For Writers: The Ultimate Reward

What do you picture when you dream about your book’s success? Do you envision readers stopping you in the grocery store with stars in their eyes? Getting on Oprah? Seeing your book in the front window of your local Borders?

Or maybe you dream of your book riding at the top of the NY Times bestseller’s list for months at a time? How about dining with Dean Koontz and his dog, Trixie? Of course, this repast would be followed by a glowing, personal endorsement of your works by Trixie, and if you’re lucky, maybe Mr. Koontz himself.

Am I close?

Are you being honest?

Over the years I’ve pictured several of these dazzling dreams happening to me. Including a multi-million dollar movie deal in which Harrison Ford plays Gus LeGarde. And of course, the world would fall in love with the LeGarde family and beg for more each year.

I imagined quitting my engineering job, staying home to write, making enough money to pay down the debt and take care of long needed repairs, like the twenty-six windows that shake and rattle every time the wind blows.

I envisioned copies of my books in everyone’s home library. Worldwide, mind you. Not just in the States.

Lots of dreams. Big dreams. And all revolved around the traditional definition of success.

Recognition. Adulation. Confirmation that my work is valued. And enough money to take care of a small country.

A few weeks ago something happened that changed all that.

Judy, one of my lunchtime walking partners, had been canceling walks and working through lunch to make extra time to care for her elderly mother. We all admired her, watching as she shopped for her mom, took her to numerous doctors’ appointments, and tended to her increasing needs with fortitude and devotion. She was one of five siblings, but took the bulk of the responsibility on her shoulders.

The cancellations increased in frequency, and it seemed we’d never see our friend on the walking trails again. We worried when her mother was admitted to the hospital. Up and down, her progress seemed to change like the December wind that skittered across the parking lots at work.

Judy was absent a few days, then a few more. Something felt wrong.

Then came the dreaded email. The subject line always seems to say the same thing. “Sad News.” Judy’s mom had passed away, released from her earthly bonds and finally free to float among the angels.

When Judy returned to work a week later, she shared stories about her mother’s final days. One of them surprised me greatly, and fundamentally changed my definition of success.

Judy read to her mother during her final stay in the hospital. For hours on end. She happened to have my second book, Upstaged, handy and began to read to her during her responsive times. Sometimes her mother would just lie there with her eyes closed, and Judy didn’t know if she was listening. Frequently, she’d ask, “Do you want me to continue reading, Mom?” Her mother would respond. A nod or a short word.


A nurse perched behind Judy and became involved in the story, too. So Judy would continue reading aloud, giving comfort to her mother and providing a little armchair escapism to her nurse. Solace came from the tentative loving voice of her daughter, close and warm. And she was reading my words.

It floored me.

In a flash, I realized if one woman could be comforted on her deathbed by my books – I’d already reached the definitive pinnacle of success.

You’ll never know how your stories will affect the world. Not until it happens. So keep writing and imagine the best. Not the money, not the fame, not the ability to quit that day job. Imagine affecting one solitary soul in their final moments on this earth, and you’ll have pictured… the ultimate reward.

A mom and child, in Judy's mother's memory.

Thursday, December 07, 2006


Every night when I settle into my pillow, a strange thing happens. Just as I close my eyes and allow my brain to float… to drift… to slow down, dreams from the previous night flash before my mind’s eye. Bits and pieces of vivid scenes flit and dissolve into sensations, movement, colors, buildings, and people. A sense of place evolves, and it is always the locale of the dream that occurred the night before.

What’s going on here? I rarely think of the dreams during the day, but when it happens, it’s like a light bulb clicks on in my head and I remember it, often in its entirety.

For example, on Monday night the most powerful dream of the evening involved me running around Salzburg. That’s right, I took off for Austria in my pajamas and wandered cobblestone streets, passed high-spired churches, and drooled over delicacies in bakery windows. There was a sense of urgency that went with this dream, a searching for … something or someone. Maybe it was an apple strudel or Berliner (jelly donut). I can’t remember. But the scenes, streets, buildings, all came back as soon as my head hit the pillow the next night. In seconds. Maybe milliseconds.

On Tuesday, I dreamed of my father. He passed nine years ago, and although you might think it odd, I consider these dreams “visits” with him. They are always pleasant, full of conversation, validation, and affection. In this dream, he was teaching me how to filet a fish. Dad was a great fisherman. I guess in Heaven cleaning a fish isn’t quite as gross as in real life. This fish had no stinky innards and its flesh was flakey and white, as if already grilled to perfection with lemon and plenty of butter.

On Wednesday, similar images returned before I moved on to new dreams. I saw Dad, the fish, and then swirled into a new adventure.

Is there a scratch pad memory in our brains that keeps an imprint there from the night before? The Dream RAM, or something? Maybe that’s it.

Some of my best dreams – mostly the ones involving skiing on gorgeous fluffy snowy hills – come back as well, months or years later. Now, see, it’s extra cool because I don’t downhill ski (I’m a wimp), but I do cross-country. Merged in these dreams are the thrilling sensations of sledding down a hill with the freedom of being upright on skis. With no fear, of course, and no falls. It’s bliss.

Then there are the recurring dreams. Like the one where I can’t find my locker in school, or my class schedule has disappeared and I panic.

How long has it been since I’ve wandered the academic hallways?


The flying dream also recurs frequently. I cherish that one. Willing myself from my earthly bonds, I lift up, higher and higher, until with arms spread I soar across the skies. Sigh. It’s the best one of all.

These connections, from night to night, as well as the connections with loved ones lost, are not dissimilar to another sensation that hits me daily.

When I’m writing a novel, I need to be in a certain zone, immersed fully in the story and in my character’s mind before I can move on to the next chapter. I write a chapter a day, in good times, and each night before I begin the next chapter I need to review the work from the day before to get into that zone. I ease into it, with anti-noise headphones doing their thing, relaxed in my comfy leather chair with my dog beside me. It’s connecting, it’s establishing the ground plane, and it’s essential. The feeling is not unlike that dreamy quality of just-before-you-sleep drowsiness. There’s a bit of a dreamlike quality to writing. After all, it’s all happening through pictures in your head. Right?

Is it close to the subliminal? Do writers tap near their subconscious when they create? Is it like this for an artist or musician?

I wouldn’t be surprised.

The layers of our lives are complex. Those deep-seated pockets of the subconscious, where fears from childhood fester, are not impossible to breach with focused therapy. The middle ground – the place where we dream – floats beneath consciousness and above fundamental memories, wafting like clouds waiting to descend. They’re all connected.

The next time you lay down to dream – notice what happens. Can you connect the events to the night before? To a commercial you saw on TV? A dialog you read in a book? A fervent desire? Think about it.

And remember, we’re all connected. Whether through God, oxygen, atoms, the net, or something more ethereal and lovely. We're all connected.


Last week it was almost 70 degrees; today the temps plunged. Here's a pic of me doing the lunch walk today. Brrrrrr.....

Monday, December 04, 2006

Happy sigh. The Green Marble series has found a home. Sam and Rachel Moore will debut in the founding book of the series with Twilight Times Books under the Paladin Timeless Imprint. Ebook to be released October, 2007; Print version to follow. We may end up changing the title, so for those who have read it, start submitting names!

That's the best news I've had in a while. And for those of you who are still waiting for the next LeGarde Mystery, Mazurka - there is yet hope! Twilight Times Books as asked to take a look at it. ;o)

My agent, Joan West, will begin pitching Firesong: an unholy grave. This is the fourth book in the LeGarde series, although it may end up coming out as the "first" with a new publisher. Heard of prequels? That might work! LOL.

I also had a splendid evening at the Dansville Library last Saturday afternoon for their Winter in the Village Festival. Read to folks from Tremolo: cry of the loon and had wonderful discussions. Thanks to all who attended and a special thanks to Terry Dearing, librarian.

- Aaron

Sunday, December 03, 2006

I was challenged to write a chapter in a book project at bookhitch. com that will donate all proceeds to literacy charities. After reading the first chapter of the "Community Project," and trying to maintain style and characterization, etc., I did it! It ended up being a blast - especially given the fact that we are able to choose genre and take twists and turns into whatever avenue strikes our fancy. Nine writers entered - my entry is number eight.

It's all for a good cause, so if you'd like to take a stroll over there and vote for you favorite, please do! And consider writing the next chapter yourself. It's great fun!

Sunday, November 26, 2006

Hope you all had a luscious Thanksgiving, full of family and good food. We did. In between the cooking, reunited with our daughter, Melanie (we hadn't seen her in ages!), meeting her new Rat Terrier (weird name, cute dog!), "Toby," and eating our way through Tryptophane Heaven, we also had to deal with a sudden ER visit for Gordie.

He was running toward his mom (my daughter, Jenn) and tripped over her leg. Fell head first into the coffee table, split open his skin over his eyebrow. It bled like mad, but the doc at the ER used some of the new glue instead of giving him stitches. Thank God. He's fine now.

Here's a picture of Melanie's new baby:

He's a real sweetie pie - loves to snuggle and sleep on his humans. We did a lot of "grandpuppy sitting" this weekend. ;o) Toby ended up getting into something bad - possibly chocolate that dropped off cookies the boys were eating - and we were worried for a day. But he's okay now.

We were blessed by a visit from Summer this weekend. Temperatures reminiscent of May or June - even got a sunburn. I worked outside all day Saturday and Sunday, weeding, raking, trimming, and generally getting the gardens around the house in shape.

We took Toby for a walk, too. He was great on the leash and ran after Allison who led the way.

I did get a chance to take a few photos.

I also spent all of Saturday evening redesigning my website. ;o) I needed to make it crisper and cleaner, easier to navigate. See what you think, if you have time, at

I'm not quite done with the makeover (my links page is all screwed up), but it's close. I'd love your feedback or suggestions to make it even better. Chose that simpler template (I was tired of the piano template!) as it seemed easier to set up and also had a white background which folks say is easier on the eyes.

Before I go, here's one more photo from the weekend. Take care, and if you're from the States, let me know how your holiday was!

- Aaron

Sunday, November 19, 2006

The Bylines Writer's Calendar 2007, is rolling off the press as I write this. I was honored that my entry made its way to the final edition. For kicks, I've reprinted it below. You may order your own copy at Or buy a few for your crit buddies. ;o)

Word Paintings

Great novels are like photographs. The creative wells from which they spring are common to both writers and photographers.

It takes a special talent to snap that one-in-a-million, heart-stopping shot. It’s this same insight, that same extra-perceptive eye for the “visual feast” that allows writers to capture a scene. Of course, all senses must be employed. Sights, sounds, aromas, tastes, and touch combine to create a unique sense of place that may ooze pastoral sensuality, big city grit, or hospital room pathos; whatever locale is desired.

It seems as though every image ever impressed upon my brain finds its way into my work. Whether it’s the light dancing through stained-glass windows in a Parisian chapel, curly slate-green lichen covering a boulder at the edge of a pond in Maine, or hoarfrost dangling from a cherry tree branch in mid-winter, these images burrow into my memory cells. In time they bubble back, persistently itching, until they are poured out on the page.

These abundant, precious scraps of life are sweet fodder for your next story. Soak them up. Reach out all five tentacles with senses throbbing. Skillfully weave them into your fiction. Now, couple them with a bone-chilling plot, memorable characters, and convincing dialogue, and you’ll have the recipe for a sizzling word painting.


Aaron Paul Lazar works as an engineer by day but can be found on weekends in his gardens with his two toddler sidekicks, grandsons Julian and Gordon. His passion lies in writing, where he creates characters of depth, color, and substance. Lazar entices readers with intricate plots, lush imagery, breathless action, gourmet meals, classical music, bountiful gardens, and surprising romantic moments.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Available now from Twilight Times Books

Click here to read an excerpt or order the ebook.(Print book to be released in 2007)

Tremolo: cry of the loon, is a coming-of-age mystery, a stirring and nostalgic trip back to the summer of 1964 when the nation mourned the assassination of JFK and American life was forever changed by the arrival of the Beatles.

Eleven-year-old Gus LeGarde is spending another glorious summer at his grandparents’ lakeside camp, along with his best friends, Elsbeth and Siegfried Marggrander. When their boat capsizes, Gus and the twins witness a drunk chasing a girl through the foggy Maine woods. She’s scared. She’s hurt. And she disappears.

On horseback and on foot, Gus, Elsbeth, and Siegfried search for Sharon Adamski, worried her brutal father will find her before they do.

During the hunt, Gus is faced with a number of personal dilemmas. He must keep secret his new friendship with “Mrs. Jones,” a woman in mourning who resides incognito. Gus also glimpses a slice of the twins’ life through their mother, who lost her family in a Nazi concentration camp. In a cruel coincidence, Gus faces the imminent loss of his own mother.

Reports of stolen religious artifacts reach the lakeside camp. New England churches have been ransacked, and missing is the church bell cast by Paul Revere, stolen from St. Stephen’s church in Boston’s North End. When Gus and his friends stumble on a scepter that may be part of the loot, they become targets. The villain turns on them, and all thoughts of a lazy summer whirl out of control.

"Beautifully written, with the perfect touch of nostalgia and suspense, the pages of this book tremble with a strong emotional appeal. As the plot steadily progresses, the climax explodes like a summer thunderstorm, clearing the air with the rush of truth. Tremolo: cry of the loon sings with the voice of love, laughter and the timeless power of friendship."Joyce Handzo, In the Library Reviews.

- Joyce Handzo, In the Library Reviews.

Monday, November 13, 2006

There's a new little guy in our house. He's soft, fuzzy, and loves to snuggle asleep on his people. Here he is, on his boy's feet. His name is Balto and he's a Cavapoo. (half poodle, half Cavalier King Charles Spaniel)

Sorry I've been so quiet lately - I've been swamped with life. Horrible and heavenly stuff. You know the drill.

At work, two of my best friends took the "early retirement" package. I was thrilled for them, but devastated by the loss of our daily fellowship. Three days later, almost all of the rest of my friends were laid off.

Those pre-lay off days can be extraordinarily stressful.

Will I get the axe this time? Will my friends? How will I cope, in either case? If I lose my job, will we lose the house? Will my three daughters have to leave college?

Then, when the long dreaded day comes, your heart hammers against your chest as you hear footsteps approaching your office... you just know it's the boss coming to give you the bad news... And when he passes you by, you hear an involuntary shout of "Oh, no!" a few cubes down and nearly jump out of your skin. Man, it was awful. We "survivors" are still trying to support the folks who lost their jobs as well as pull ourselves out of the depression that ensued. It's so quiet around work these days...

It was harder than any of the previous 17 layoffs we've ever had. And I pray that my friends find jobs much more rewarding and less stressful than the ones they lost.

I did manage to find a weekend to bring my lovely wife to Honeoye Lake. There was a strange lack of sound there... I think it's called "quiet." We broiled some killer swordfish and drank our share of Gewurtztraminer from the Finger Lakes wineries. ;o) Thanks to our friend, Ken F. for the low cost getaway weekend at his cabin.

Gorgeous, isn't it?

I've also spent last weekend helping a friend go through her novel outline - hoping to make some useful suggestions. Sometimes you just have to stop writing and dig into someone else's work to give a little back, you know? I don't do it often, but she has been a wonderful crit buddy, and I'm glad I took the time.

If I haven't visited your blog or commented lately, I apologize. I hope to get back to "normal" soon. I'm working on my eleventh book now (tentitively entitled "Lady Blues") and need to completely revamp my website. I'll let you know when it's ready for a peek.

Thanks for hanging in there with me!


Monday, October 23, 2006

Title: Pervalism
Author: M.E Ellis
Publisher: Wild Child Publishing
Publisher's Address: P.O. Box 4897, Culver City, CA, 90231-4897
ISBN number: 1-934069-21-3.
Price: $15.99
Publisher phone number and/or website address:

By M.E Ellis
Review by Aaron Paul Lazar
Author of the LeGarde Mystery Series

Pervalism is a gripping journey into the tortured mind of serial killer John Brookes. Abused by an odious mother and adored by a doting father, Brookes’ psyche is scarred from childhood. His sins begin with animal torture, which gives him a weighty sense of power and a bizarre sensual release. Although the torture scenes were tough to read, the story beguiled this reader with ghoulish fascination and it was impossible not to read Pervalism in one sitting.

Pervalism is not for the faint of heart. Brookes’ vile behaviors escalate as he reaches his teen years. When his promiscuous mother bears a child, resultant from an affair, his jealousy erupts into obsessive rage. She appears to love the new baby. Yet Brookes is riddled with questions, ripped apart by the disparity. How could she have hated him so much, yet love the squalling baby who now rides in his old pram? His hostility and excessive envy push him to stalk her, and when opportunities ripen, he drives her to a ghastly deed.

Oddly enough, Brookes matures into a seemingly normal man who marries, has a child, and holds down a job as a hospital janitor. Yet, perhaps it isn’t really so strange, when one considers the current day killers who are unmasked and found to be living sedately in suburbia, reportedly considered “nice, quiet neighbors.” Brookes holds out for several years without giving into his baser needs. The devil quiets when he learns to love his wife and son with ferocity.

When Brookes’ family is treated poorly, a rumbling sense of outrage collides with old feelings of violence and revenge, and the grisly deeds of his earlier life are perpetuated.

As the body count rises, Ellis exhibits a unique talent in her ability to provoke understanding and empathy for her homicidal protagonist. Brookes’ pain is palpable. His fears understandable. His rage predictable. Each time he kills anew, however, the horror escalates to unpredictable levels.

M.E’s skill is consummate. Her voice, consistent and eerie, will ensnare the most reticent reader. An English setting, the backdrop for Brookes’ heinous acts, provides a rich tapestry of British culture that weaves depth and a strong sense of place into the work. John Brookes becomes eerily lifelike in this potent and unforgettable thriller. Watch the book trailer at and purchase either the ebook or print book at:


Aaron Paul Lazar resides in Upstate New York with his wife, three daughters, two grandsons, mother-in-law, dog, and four cats. After writing in the early morning hours, he works as an electrophotographic engineer at Kodak, in Rochester, New York. Additional passions include vegetable, fruit, and flower gardening; preparing large family feasts; photographing his family, gardens, and the breathtakingly beautiful Genesee Valley; cross-country skiing across the rolling hills; playing a distinctly amateur level of piano, and spending “time” with the French Impressionists whenever possible. Although he adored raising his three delightful daughters, Mr. Lazar finds grandfathering his “two little buddies” to be one of the finest experiences of his life.

Double Forté is the founding book of the LeGarde Mystery series and was released in January, 2005. Upstaged, the second, was released in October, 2005. His third, Tremolo: cry of the loon, was released via Twilight Times Books under the Paladin Timeless Imprint in fall, 2006. Mr. Lazar is currently working on his eleventh book, Lady Blues. He is a regular columnist for FMAM (Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine) and The Back Room, A Cozy Retreat for Writers and Readers. Contact him at: or via his website at

Thursday, October 12, 2006

In the Mood for Haiku?

(See contributions from friends at the end of this post.)

Red berries

Cold with morning dew

Quench my thirst

This morning, while waiting for hours at the doctor's office, I read more from Wabi Sabi for Writers by Richard Powell. This book speaks to my writer's soul. Its inspiration is pure and true. As I stared outside the window at a holly bush, hanging heavy with red berries, the above Haiku came to mind.

The above images were snapped during the past week. Do they inspire your writer's soul?

If Haiku is your thing, try your hand at it.

Remember, it's either of the following formats (in syllables):




Post your Haiku here, and also send them to SW Vaughn, who will post them on her Haiku site and marry them with one of these images or another of her own choosing.


From Kim Milgate:


Lovely wide-eyed lamb
Clean clear soul

From Allison Lazar:

Agony stricken
Finally time to dispose
of all that is bad

From Jude Hardin:

Fuzzy orange worm
Climbs a stairway to nowhere
Dreaming of white wings

From Jeanne Fielding:

Fearsome Haiku land
Faint of heart be wary now
Nature's featured here

From Lesia Valentine:

Sweet kitten

lithe bundle of fur
has sharp claws

Sweet kitten

curious and brave
eats orange worms

Book Trailers If you enjoyed the movie below, wait 'til you see the ones created by Lesia Valentine adn S.W. Vaughn (aka Sonja Baines). These two great writers inspired me to try my hand at it. Please check out their trailers at:

Rain Coming, by Lesia Valentine

Soul Haven by Sonja Baines

Let me know what you think, and be sure to post on their blogs to give them feedback!

Friday, October 06, 2006

Okay, this is the third version of the trailer. I hope this is the final one, I need to start on trailers for individual books!

Saturday, September 30, 2006

Hi everyone,

Just a note to let you know how it all went. Dale's surgery started at 4:30 (only one hour late!) and ended at 5:45 - precisely what the doctor predicted. Dr. Jeffrey Jones was excellent all round - we would highly recommend him for hand surgery. He screwed in a t- shaped titanium plate along her wrist and arm and said it went perfectly. They ended up giving her general anaesthesia because they couldn't isolate a good vein for the local block. All her fingers are working and she has good sensation in them as well.

I coudn't see her until 8:30 last night (they don't let you go into the recovery room) - I was stuck waiting in the main lobby until then. But luckily they found a private room for her and let me stay with her in another hospital bed. I was glad I could be there for her - everything takes SO long in a hospital. "We'll bring your meds soon," means "In two hours!" Everything took two hours. No wonder they need more nurses out there!

They were all very nice. Dale slept with the help of the pain killers, but I slept only about three hours. They came in the room to check her every hour or so, which was good. All signs were good, and we finally were released by noon and headed home to crash.

Her arm looks awful - it's black and blue all the way up her arm and her fingers are purple, too. The worst part right now is the pain, but she has pills to take which should help ease it for the next few days.

Funny how I feel like I've been through the ringer and all I did was wait and watch. She was a real trooper, though. An amazing woman. You can see my sweetie pie above. But it's all good now and we're just glad it's over.

Talk to you soon,


Monday, September 25, 2006

It's been an interesting weekend. Aside from another trauma at the ER, everything went according to plan. Sort of.

I guess I've become used to these events. Yesterday, when my daughter screamed into the house shouting, "Mom fell! Help me!" I hardly felt the usual jolt of adrenaline surge into my blood. Calmly, I asked, "Where is she?" and then proceeding to ask my twenty-one year old daughter why she left her outdoors.

"I heard the bone snap!" she sobbed.

I looked into her eyes and realized that this was one of her worst nightmares. Before she'd dragged my wife outside for a walk, prodded and encouraged by me, she'd asked, "What if she falls?"

I'd shrugged it off. "Don't worry about it. She'll be fine. Just go slowly." We'd decided that in spite of the multiple sclerosis that it was time to add a mild exercise routine into her day. With high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and diabetes, it seemed essential to try. Besides, I want my sweetie around when I retire in fourteen years. I didn't want to think back and regret not urging her to pursue a healthier lifestyle.

Two years ago she fell, dislocated and broke both shoulders, and had surgery on one. That was a tough one. Oh yeah. Some day maybe you'll read about it in One Potato, Blue Potato, the second book in my Sam Moore paranormal mystery series. ;o)

An operation is looming, full of words like "very bad break," and "pins to hold it together," and ... well, you know the routine. We're greatful that this time it's a bit easier. Only one arm to worry about.

I'm stopping the guilt right here, though. There's enough going on. I don't need to blame myself, do I? It was an accident, pure and simple. Right?


I was kind of proud of how I didn't lose it this time. You know, the gut-clenching worry that consumes all else? Instead, I read to her from her James Patterson book while we waited. And waited. And waited. Found about a dozen examples of words that are not in favor in the writing forums these days. Like "suddenly," and tags that stand out like, "he barked," "she choked," etc. Four paragraphs in a row starting with the same name. Just like my friend Val always says when she discovers hot new writers who use all the forbidden words and excel in spite of it, it's all a matter of balance. And James Patterson can do whatever the hell he wants to do. His readers don't give a darn!

When they set her wrist in a cast (temporary measure), I took the laptop into the waiting room and began to feverishly plan the next LeGarde book. I'd just sent off my current project (The Green Marble) to my publisher for consideration (her request) and was at the "inbetween stage." You writers know what I mean. One project is finished, ten others clamor for attention.

"Should I go back and tear into one of the older books? Or should I... dare I... start a new one?" The creative thrill afforded by writing new stuff is too alluring. I find it hard to say no to myself. So, instead of another edit (I just got through doing that for the past two months), I'm on to a new book. Dear Siegfried is finally going to find love - but only after some nerve-wracking and dangerous challenges are thrown his way. (evil chuckle here.)

What do you writers do between projects? Do you need time to recharge, or do you dive right into the next one? Does it last a day? A week? Months? Do you keep notes about books you're dying to write like I do? Tell me about your processes.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

More Bubbles... couldn't resist!

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

After spending a delightful weekend on Keuka Lake in the Finger Lakes region of Upstate NY, I'm trying to get caught up!

I'm in the final phases of polishing The Green Marble: A Sam Moore paranormal mystery to send to Lida Quillen at Twilight Times Books. I added a few new chapters to the end and am currenlty purging forbidden words. LOL!

Also, I just submitted Mazurka through my agent, Joan West, to Archebooks Publishing. Has anyone experience with them? I've heard good things about them and enjoyed the interview with owner Robert E. Gelinas in the Voice in the Dark ezine last month. They seem like a top notch small press.

I went crazy this weekend with my newly discovered macro mode on my camera, (I know, I should have read the manual when I bought the camera a few years ago, but I'm a GUY!). Thought you might like to see a few of my favorite shots.