Jim Stitzel
Jack-of-All-Trades, Master of WordsExcerpts from Life
Sheba
We miss you already, dear.
No Moods, Ads or Cutesy Fucking Icons (Re-reloaded) » Guilty
No Moods, Ads or Cutesy Fucking Icons (Re-reloaded) » Guilty. This is... unfortunate. For what it's worth, I tend to side with Dr. Watts. I've always had a problem with the customs process for crossing between the US and Canada. It's been my experience that the guards...
Ficly
For those who may be interested, I've set up a presence on Ficly and modified a handful of my flash fiction pieces to work over there. I'm hoping that this will help encourage me get back into writing again, albeit in bite-size chunks. If you happen to also be a Ficly...
Fiction
Mob
Damion stands at the edge of the woods, just inside the treeline. His attention is focused on the house 35 yards away, the house that is surrounded by a teeming mass of the living dead. He hears screams from inside, cries for help from the poor souls trapped within....
Fiction: Beautiful Insanity
He is a tiny man. Under four feet tiny. Balding pate. Small eyes. Round, tortoiseshell glasses. Tattered brown suit. Nothing to look at, certainly, not that anyone is looking. He glides through the crowd, clearing a path without word or gesture. People move aside for...
Gods of Dirt
There were things we worshiped before the new gods. Things of the dirt. Things of the dark. Things that moved and swarmed and crawled in the spaces beneath our feet. We feared them, even as they ignored us. To them, we were the worms. And less than worms. We were the...