My writing style is


My stories are rich in recompense and travel down dark roads,
employ supernatural forces, and dish out overflowing portions
of whoop-ass against carefully crafted villains.

I’ve heard it said that life is a sculptor, and every person one meets on the journey from the stroller to the grave is a tool. Some are hammers and some are chisels. One may be an abrasive and another a buffing cloth. They all have one thing in common. They cannot shape without destroying. A chip here and a whack there, a little grinding, some polishing, maybe a good crack with a hammer to knock off a chunk. This is one of the conundrums of life. If we are lucky, our finished selves may be masterpieces, but we are just as likely to be reduced to piles of rubble. There are three possibilities; to become a work of art placed on a pedestal and displayed in a museum to proudly stand before the admiring masses, to be a broken statue never to achieve a place in the annals of art, or to be broken into a pile of dust and stone and tossed in the dumpster. Yes. Life is like a sculptor, but not a very good one. It’s no Michelangelo. The artist named Life has fucked up more times than Micky the Angel ever did or would have if he’d sculpted ten billion statues

Victoria Strix is eight and a half months pregnant when she learns her husband has been killed on his way home from active duty. While on the beach in Atlantic City, she is attacked, gang-raped, and murdered by a vicious gang. The Ancient One, who most call God, is tired of the screams that have been reaching his ears since the dawn of humanity. Victorias child, born in the ocean as she is dying, is transformed into the first human vessel of divine wrath. With powers and the help of Micky, an archangel in training, Victorias son James will lock horns with some of the most heinous villains imaginable, including an incarnation of evil deep in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey.

Is the sky falling? Not quite. But something is.

On a sunny day in June, Rodney Clendenin greets the day and feels a pain in his wrist. It’s a thin, hair-like needle that seems to have fallen from the sky. It is the first of a storm that will cover the globe. No one and no place is safe.

Needles chronicles the tribulations of the human race through the experiences of three people from three different parts of the United States as they face everyone’s greatest fear—the extinction of planet Earth.

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Art Direction

Short Story “Title” Coming Soon

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Jeff Cole

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