Monthly Archives: October 2014


Possible New Character for Demon Wrought



Posted by on October 30, 2014 in From the Desk of the Author


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A goblin and an earth elemental


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Posted by on October 27, 2014 in From the Desk of the Author


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Posted by on October 26, 2014 in From the Desk of the Author


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Proverbs 29:11

A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control.

I Corinthians 13:5

It (love) is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.

Proverbs 29: 22-23

An angry man stirs up dissension, and a hot-tempered one commits many sins. A man’s pride brings him low, but a man of lowly spirit gains honor.

James 1: 19-20

My dear brothers, take note of this: everyone should  be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, for a man’s anger does not bring about a righteous life that God desires.

Psalms 4: 4-5

In your anger do not sin; when you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent. Offer right sacrifices and trust in the Lord.

Galatians 6:9

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Psalms 13

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and everyday have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? Look on me and answer, O Lord my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death; my enemy will say, “I have overcome him”, and my foes will rejoice when I fall. But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.


Posted by on October 21, 2014 in From the Desk of the Author


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Escape Artist


 Escape Artist

Manifestations of manipulation

A simple lock and key

Entangled in contemplation

Zealous to be free

Trapped, locked up tight in satanic devices

Taking God-given desires, shifting them to vices

But an escape artist am I

Slippery, silent and slick

No knot I can’t untie

No lock I cannot pick

Pinned, bound up fast in your misinterpretation

Trying to find my freedom from the exclusive alienation

Contortions of body, heart and mind

Flexing, bending my way loose

The exit not so hard to find

When you already know the ruse

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Posted by on October 10, 2014 in From the Desk of the Author


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I Started a Publishing Company

A huge step for a friend of mine. Very happy for Joshua.

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Posted by on October 9, 2014 in Penn's Diary




            I grew up in Gulfport, the second largest city in Mississippi. However, it was not so hard to find rural pockets in our day to day. Our neighborhood was surrounded by nature, woods in which we would built forts and hide from one another, ditches to discover pollywogs and crawfish, and a canal to master our swimming. These patches of trees and bramble were pockets of solace, tiny little havens where we could escape the monotony of our everyday. Here we could let our imaginations run rampant; we could hide from the world around us. My friends and I would play for hours in those woods, and then clean ourselves in the canal that ran alongside our neighborhood.

We were boys becoming young men, and it was not long before we felt the need to challenge ourselves. The canal was approximately one hundred yards in width, and we had never tried to swim across it. My parents had warned me of deadly undercurrents, and we had seen the alligators with our own eyes. However, there was some primal instinct that made us all believe that something would change if we could swim across that canal. There were five of us that decided to take the plunge that day.

I was the second of the group to stumble onto the sands of the opposite shore of the seaway. I was still on my hands and knees, trying to catch my breath, when I heard the cries for help. One of my friends was in the middle of the canal, and he was panicking. He was grabbing and pulling the two boys swimming next to him. I immediately dove back into the water. I got close enough to talk to him and calm him down. Together we bobbed back to our little haven. For nearly an hour, we were all too tired to even speak. The five of us sat on the sand in abject silence. Something had certainly changed for us that day; our pride had been eroded by the water of that canal, and we understood the fragility of our existence.


Posted by on October 8, 2014 in From the Desk of the Author


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Illustrator, Childen's writer, New Yorker


Blog of artist Dean Scheppel

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One Writer's Journey

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2 Warps to Neptune

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thewindedninja's Blog

A fine site

2... 1... Liftoff!

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know your roll

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Fear me, he who fails at most endeavours in a flashy and horrifying manner!


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Photography, Fiction, Travel, and Opinions.

Scraps of Madness

Poetry, stories, role-playing, and ramblings.


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All about gaming, from video to D&D (and other RPGS) to board games.

The sci-fi, fantasy, gaming, reading, writing blog of Jacob and H.P. Holo


This is Not the Story of a Hero.

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Creating magic on the page and in the world

Legendary Post

Stories... Art... Life

Everything and Nothing; My Journeys

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An exercise in narcissism


Welcome to my corner of the World...

August Life

Tech, Art, Music, and Books, that's life.