A shred of uniqueness in appearance or behavior was like blood on a wounded animal, awakening predators miles away.  George was easy prey.

The world was still spinning. Life would go on. She hated every leaf and blade of grass.

In April of 1951, in what was once a warehouse on the outskirts of a tiny town in Garfield County, Washington, an innocent man was hanged for no reason other than a hanging was needed.

Deemed unfit for duty, Grant Aldridge’s fifth great-grandfather, Thaddeus, was discharged from George Washington’s Continental Army. 

I had no idea what I was about to do to secure my birthright. 

Jose was a follower.

Harvey’s life had been lived, and he was eager for it to end.

An excerpt from a work in progress.

Beth’s life was a mess.

To look at her, you’d never guess that she likes to stand in front of a crowd and sing.

An excerpt from the novella The Gallery.

Living here is going to kill us.

The South is a haunted place, his father always said. There are too many sins in its past, too much pain and suffering.