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THE STORY: Darkness has claimed Platius. The Shadow Eaters rule. Will the Great Falcon of Light return? Who will rise to face Malachar—King of the Shadow Eaters? In Book 1 of the series, you are introduced to a world marred by evil. Morningstar is summoned by the King of the Shadow Eaters. He must perform an ancient ritual to keep the hungry shadows fed and prove his devotion. What follows is a chain of events filled with struggle and moral weight, duty and sacrifice. ABOUT:

There once was a young flute who wanted nothing more than to hear the music it played. “It is not for you to hear,” said Father Flute, who sat beside him on the dusty shelf. “You are an instrument. Let the boy do the playing. Let the air pass through. That is enough.” The young flute thought it strange—he had no ears, of course, and yet, he could hear every word his father spoke. Just not the boy. Not the music. “But it isn’t enough,” said the young flute. “Not for me. I w

There once was a boy with a deck of cards in his hand and a hope in his heart. He wanted to learn how to play. Any game would do—something easy. Something that made him smile. Each afternoon after school, he burst through the front door with his shirt untucked and his mind spinning. “Will you teach me today, Mama?” he asked, holding out the deck. “Not today, sweetie,” she said, her eyes fixed on the television. “But tomorrow, I won’t be so busy.” The boy nodded. Tomorrow

There once was a streetlight at the edge of an old neighborhood where no one lived anymore. The houses had long been boarded up. The road was crumbling and quiet. But the streetlight still stood—tall and waiting—as if someone might return. It changed its colors like it always had: green to yellow, yellow to red, red to green again. But deep in its wires, the streetlight wished for only one thing: to be green always. Green was calm. Green was joy. Green was everything good.

Sit with me till the leaves brown and wilt above our heads,   without us ever knowing when the wind plucks them free.   Now, once more, slivers of fading light stream through the window,   your smile pressed against the sunbeams,   and that’s all I need,   until our breath grows fragile and thin, and we must leave this cabin beneath the old willow tree.

Today is an exciting day. I published my first novel, The Great Beeshee , on Amazon KDP and it can be purchased now in paperback or...

Perry struck the keys with all he had left. The rhythm swelled through Inky’s, the little bar he played every Friday. But tonight, something felt different. He hunched over the piano, long gray hair damp with sweat, eyes blinking back water. He began to sing—not softly or tenderly, but like he was trying to shake something loose. Wishing wells and roads of dust, Willow trees in beating sun, I crane my neck, Dad, I can’t go on, It’s lonely here with this quiet hum. He hit th

Today’s the day. It’s seven o’clock, and I can see Dad’s black pickup truck kicking up dust along our street. The road is long and curved like an “L,” with tall oak trees lining the sides. He’s at the top of the L, but I can already hear the rickety engine sputtering. The sun is a burning red apple in the clear evening sky. The earth’s belly is full with spring rain. I dig my bare feet into the wet soil, standing atop the hill of our front yard, fingers wearing out the base