I’m often asked, “How do authors deal with writers block?”

There are two types of writers block; difficulty figuring out how to make a scene or plot line work, and the inability to write anything. The answer to one type is “get up,” while the answer to the other is “sit down.”

If you are having trouble making some aspect of your story work, go put on a load of laundry or let the dog out. Better yet, walk the dog around the block. If that doesn’t work, sleep on it. Sometimes the answer will magically present itself when you awake.

Critique partners or writing buddies are another solution. Give a synopsis of your story and then explain your dilemma. You might be surprised what another set of eyes (or ears) can come up with. One thing is sure, if you let indecision go on for too long, it will turn into the more severe type of block, the total incapacity to write at all. Stress, depression, and fear are other reasons a writer stops writing. The only cure for this is to make a change.

Try writing on your laptop instead of your desktop. Listen to music while you write, or pick a different style of music, or stop listening to music at all. Write at a coffee shop or on your back patio. Take a class on writing, especially one with homework.

If you are still having trouble, but your book aside and try writing a short story. Do you have a blog? Write something for it, or post on a friend’s blog.

If you have to start small, that’s fine. Just start. Write something. And write every day. The only true way to get over writer’s block is to sit down and write.

The light of the full moon barely penetrates the rolling clouds and scarcely illuminates the yearly ritual taking place among the trees. A multitude of unwholesome and supernatural creatures abound on this most powerful evening, wreaking their mischief as they sneak from house to house attempting to steal away the contents hoarded therein, be it food or small children. Food is always ravenously consumed with great glee - for some of these creatures have not feasted since last year's eve of celebration. Whereas small children are always sought for corruption and transformation, if the mysterious incantations are uttered successfully the hordes will once again multiply next year on this very eve.

Zealously, the residents of the village guard against the coming of the night and all that it brings. It is, however, a self-defeating and fruitless endeavor as the very lights used to illuminate the night to frighten the creatures only serve as a beacon to the souls ready for harvest. In those homes where transformations afflict the children who have succumbed to the magic, adults try in vain to prevent their beloved darlings from joining the spirits and effecting permanence of the incantations - few rarely succeed. With the gift of evasion granted by goblins, the fledgling haunters flee the house to perpetuate the ritual and hoard their share of provisions to stock until next year's coming. To save their children, parents will brave the night and chase their devilish offspring and attempt to rescue them. But this only means there are fewer family members at home to defend against the onslaught of perpetuating rituals in which it will once again be chanted, "Trick-or-Treat".

***

There is something about the human condition that makes us want things to be nice and ordered; a new home, a fancy car, safe neighborhoods, or a decent job. We even desire the same in our quest for intangibles like hope, peace, and love. All is right with the world while we look at our clean and sterile creation, but that is only a part of our existence. There is something more to us, something darker. In a dying breath we set it aside for a short while; to pretend that life is gory and frightening. White picket fences deteriorate into haunted houses, our safe havens collapse into chaos and horror, and grandma no longer pinches your cheek with a smile – she wants to rip off your face, and gum to death the grey matter hiding inside your naked skull.

Please, call me Sebastian. I never let a beautiful woman call me anything but. Back to your question, my job is to hunt those from my dimension who use their magical abilities to harm humans. While pursuing a particularly diabolical criminal, I was mortally wounded. I used the opportunity to test one of my many theories of spiritual convergence and converted myself to binary code. I planned to transfer myself to my laptop, but through a series of mishaps, I ended up in an electronic reading device.

The Kindle in which I was trapped was purchased and sent to Hailey Parrish. She unwittingly released me and I took refuge in her when she first powered up the device. Lovely girl, by the way, she took the entire co-habitation dilemma quite well. 

Well, my dear, I’ve been inside many women, but this was the first time I’ve been able to feel what they feel and experience the world through their eyes. Very enlightening indeed.

Isosceles begins with nineteen-year-old Sean McIntyre finding his longtime best friend Trey Goodsby dead in the bathroom either intentionally or accidentally by his own hand. On the back of the toilet, a cell phone display reads, Missed Call From Madeline Edwards. Before determining the immediate circumstances that would bring the three of them to this scene, the pertinent question became where did they meet? I floated a few ideas around, but none of them seemed natural. One concrete thing was it needed to be a place where on the outset they could be equals. Ironically, the answer came to me as the first day of school. When many of us think of our school days, we think of struggling to fit in, to climb our way up the social ladder. Then I posited, that whatever lasting impressions these three had on each other should be seeded in this environment.

On a sunny autumn day, Sean walks into the classroom with a sea of children before him as an ironic homage to a scene in one of my favorite films, “Goodfellas”. There’s a famous tracking shot where the camera follows Ray Liotta’s character Henry Hill taking his girlfriend Karen played by Lorraine Bracco to the Copacabana through the back entrance. You see all the various people doing their thing, and Hill walks through like he belongs, almost like he’s royalty. However though Hill felt all that confidence, I wanted Sean to feel small and insignificant.

After that moment, I knew the next place to go was to introduce Madeline into his world in a surreal way. It had to contrast with the faces of his classmates whom he cannot put a name to, yet I knew it had to keep with the notion of his insecurity. When he sees Madeline in the sunlight and is completely transfixed, it was important to state she has an ethereal glow. This served a dual purpose, not just his attraction, but to establish her as someone whom Sean sees as above him.