My work
Old Omens, my second novel
A TALE TOLD IN PASSING
Burly Drive, first novel
poems, articles
really short story
Slipping and Sliding, short story
Our mirth the music of division
Our mother's wombs the dressing rooms be
Where we are dressed for this short comedy;
Heaven the judicious, sharp spectator is
That sits and marks still who doth act amiss;
Our graves that hide us from the searching sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done:
Thus march we, playing, to our last rest,
Only, we die in earnest, that's no jest.
-Sir Walter Raleigh
