Gayatri had a basement in her house. It was basically a store room for all the old discarded things. If Gayatri ever needed to replace anything in her house then first she would look for its replacement in the store room below and if found something useful then she would use it. One day, she realized that a bulb in her kitchen wasn't turning on. "Well it seems I am going to need a bulb", she said to herself, "Let's see if the basement has one." and she went to the basement. In the short time of her reaching the basement, all the sleeping old things woke up after hearing what she said. These things would always get excited when Gayatri needed something and they would get anxious to see who will finally leave the dirty store room. In fact, all of those things used to pray for such a circumstance to come when Gayatri will need something and finally they will be put to some good use rather than living there , because some of those things were living in that pile of garbage since a very long time. And among those very old things was an old dirty glass bowl. Aside from the fact that it was dusty, the bowl was actually beautiful. It was small and had designs of the flowers fantastically crafted on it! After knowing that Gayatri was coming down in the basement to look for something she needs, the bowl woke up from a long sleep and said to himself with deep hope, "At last! Gayatri is coming here after a long time! I wish at least today she will notice me in this pile and who knows? She might pick me !" Upon hearing these words, a lamp hung above the lying bowl, opened and rolled his 'flashing' eyes on the bowl, he laughed at the bowl's unrealistic hope and said, "Stupid! Did you not hear Gayatri's words? She needs a lamp at this moment and that's what she is coming to look for here, so obviously she is going to find out that I am a what she requires more than any of you. I will finally be free from this pile of garbage and live in Gayatri's kitchen to brighten up the surrounding! So tell me, bowl, how can you hope so foolishly for her to pick you? What would Gayatri do with you?" A smile appeared on the bowl's face by the lamp's question but the smile had a bit of sorrow in it. He answered, "My friend, Gayatri was just nine years old when her aaji (grandmother) bought me for her. She used to make Gayatri's favourite rice kheer and feed it from me to her. Gayatri loved eating by her aaji's hand and I loved watching them being so happy together. Some time went by and our beloved aaji passed away, both me and Gayatri were sunken in sadness. As the days passed by, Gayatri stopped eating kheer as her aaji was not there to make it and feed it to her which eventually made her ignore me. A few more months passed and while rearranging some of the things in the house, Gayatri's parents accidently put me in this store room, since then I have been living here. I still remember the laughter, the joy Gayatri had with her aaji and those memories are the only thing giving me hope that someday Gayatri will notice me and I will share those precious memories with her again.", the weeping bowl looked at the lamp and said, "You asked me what would Gayatri use me for? But my friend, sometimes the memories of the past attached to a thing are worth more than its use for the present." The lamp, after hearing this, regretted acting rudely with the bowl and in an instant he decided to make up for it! He flashed his light so brightly on the bowl that the light was getting reflected off its glass! At the same moment, Gayatri entered the store room. With light shining so bright on the bowl, she noticed the bowl first, not the lamp! She came forward and picked up the bowl. After staring at it for just few moments, her eyes filled up with tears... As if the bowl was radiating the rays of memories, she recalled all the happiness of the childhood and more importantly, she remembered the smile of her aaji, as sweet as the kheer she used to make. For her memories' sake, Gayatri decided to clean the bowl and take it with her. Before leaving, she also took the lamp but suddenly, the lamp went out! "It was working just fine when I entered!", she was confused and even tried turning the switch on and off but nothing happened, the lamp wasn't turning on. "Ah! It must have gone off just at this moment. Never mind, maybe I should just buy a new one.", Gayatri thought and left the store room with the bowl, but before leaving with Gayatri, the bowl expressed his gratitude to the lamp, "Thank you friend! I won't ever be able to repay your debt! But tell me, why did you turn off yourself on purpose when you could've also left this place today with me?" The lamp smiled and answered, "Because my friend, I realized my true purpose today! Instead of living upstairs, I would like to stay here and enlighten the priceless memories hidden under this dusty precious garbage!" And Gayatri shut the door of the store room. THE END.

As stated in the title, book 5 of my current urban/dark fantasy and paranormal romance series have its own cover reveal, so here it is...let me know what you think! Thanks everyone and I hope you're continuing staying safe and smart during these difficult times. Happy reading!

My urban/dark fantasy and paranormal romance Keeper of La Tecla (The Key) series have new book covers! I couldn't be more proud of their turnout and I want to thank Befunky for working with me and allowing me the chance to use their app for the designing that I spent hours creating with my own hands. Hope everyone is staying safe!

Are you a fan of Science Fantasy? Come join the Kynaston Royal Saga Facebook Group to join in the fun as we prepare for the launch of Book 1! Power In Time follows the adventures of Larkspur, an unwitting time traveler who finds herself stuck 4,000 years in the future, with unknown superpowers lurking in her DNA, and adopted into one of the most powerful families on all four inhabited planets. Will painful surprises from her distant past now help her embrace an uncertain future? https://www.facebook.com/groups/996482640749642/

👤 Sorry I missed out on my Actor/Book Character post yesterday for #writerswednesday but it was a busy day at the Doc's office so, I'm making up for it today 👤 Actor/Book Character No. 3 and 4 are brother/sister 𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐫𝐲𝐞 👩🏼 Sarah has a bubbly personality at first upon meeting her but her moods change quickly due to the possible lycan gene despite being human 👩🏼 She's not a feminine character but not masculine either, but prefers the tomboy vibe with more than usual buckles/chains of the steampunk attire 👩🏼 She's heterosexual; getting involved with the Australian vampire, Jonathan Saxon and is an excellent archer; learning the skill from fellow warriors/archers and uncle Leonard Brye, but she is NOT a physical fighter 👨🏼 Nathan is the oldest sibling of 2 years, carrying the lycan gene from his father's side; transitioning for the first time at 18 years of age 👨🏼 He's an addict; his vices are heavy alcohol consumption, smoking cigarettes/Marijuana and strong sexual appetite 👨🏼 He prefers showing interest in young girls/women 16 years or older; those who haven't engaged in sexual activity yet. Meaning virgins, plain/simple 👨🏼 However, Nathan shows an unnatural fixation on Sarah; a sickness he's acted upon with her consent 👨🏼 He's a duel weaponed swordsman and despite his efforts to hide it, he's not a natural blonde, prefers clean/perfectly manicured nails/plucked eyebrows 👨🏼 You can't help but wonder if he's bisexual but 𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 👨🏼 He's cute/charming with bright blue eyes and speaks with a suave/charismatic demeanor but does spew verbal vulgarities, making that a big turn off 👨🏼 The actor/actress that represent my character(s) are 95% 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐎𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 and 80% 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧 👤 Imagine their faces while reading/imagining the character(s) 👤

📙 Book two of my series has complete it's editing/revision and is available to read, so grab your copy now! 📙 Available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Inkitt, Inkshares, Lulu and Wattpad with formats available in Kindle, Nook, hardcover and free copy 📙 Happy reading, everyone!

Hi, authors...I have a question for you and it's a fun one. I think. When creating your book characters (regardless of genre) you can visualize them so clearly, that you imagine as if they're real, right? If not, that's okay. No worries. But for me...I have an active/creative imagination when it comes to writing my books, so I've put in a lot of thinking about actors of whom could/would portray my characters; actors that help me visualize them all. Even down to the smallest detail and some actors that I've chosen are 100% without a doubt-handsdown the character so when you see my weekly 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬/𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 posts, you're seeing my characters physically brought to life. .. *Take a sigh* .. So allow me to introduce character number one: 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐮𝐥 𝐋𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐬. He's an ambitious man of half Japanese heritage (although extremely power hungry) practicing the dark arts and necromancy, with an endless search for more power and the Book of Solomon. You'd think taking over the Great City and declaring himself Lord of London (aka Great City) would be enough, but for Drakuul...he wants more; no matter the cost. His search for the Book of Solomon leads him to the Isle of Castillion where his greed for power and control brings to his end at the hands of Jinn and his magical blade. .. Actor Portrayal: Ian Anthony Dale Actor/Character Likeness: 100% Present In: Secrets of Ravenstone and On the Evil Scale

It all begins at 666 West Alchemy Road... Discover the "Secrets of Ravenstone" as a young woman of demonic origins travels to the mysterious Isle of Castillion, where she encounters supernatural and paranormal characters and is introduced to creatures of legend that dwell beneath the island. Follow her dangerous journey, as she's chosen by an ancient orb-stone that has yet to reveal its own secrets. ....................**********....................**********....................**********....................**********........ Book One in my urban fantasy/paranormal romance book series. If you enjoy vampires (that don't sparkle or eat solid foods) lycans (Underworld inspired), jinn, demons, dragons, hellhounds, magic and more, then this could be the series for you!

A town where the snow is black, bringing coldness and fear. Old remnants of tears held back, and times too hard to bear. Woven from black sheets of rain, fear covers in disarray. Anguished and frozen with pain, dark petals fall in dismay. Hell has come to Oasis, The Dead and gone at its side. Now hidden behind faces that are well-known far and wide. Who will fall prey to The Dead? I hope it is not me. I'm hiding under my bed. I'm afraid as I can be. Prey for The Dead

They say that our experiences is the mirror of our knowledge. We all have stories to tell, stories that make us feel proud, stories that reveal our bad past and how we managed to change it. We can experience every kind of stories we hear, and the knowledge we spread is pretty much affected by all those experiences we have had in our lives. We learn, we make mistakes, we help others and we even destroy others. But we also forget. We forget some experiences we have had, some worlds we have lived in, some passions we have felt. Those are our unwritten stories. The stories we never wrote down to remember and recount them... or the stories we once decided to erase. The day I started writing was a great day for me, it was the beggining of my unique story. A story that helped me create a great bond with something few people recognise. Writing helps me stare at myself like a usual mirror does, but this mirror doesn't reveal my face, but my inner self- even some of the hidden thoughts and emotions of mine that nor me nor anyone else recognises. In the old days, I only used to look at mirrors just to check if my hair looks good or if my clothes are a good pair. Now, things are more complicated. I can now look at myself and recognise all those actions in the past that piece by piece created the present me. Although it sounds nice, there are times when I feel this "power" being an unecessery burden. It reveals memories of the past, memories that were nicely closed up in deepest shadows of my memory. And then, when i open those chests, I remember tales of mine I left unwritten. Tales and stories. Some of which I avoided to absorb their lesson, and some which I never wished to think about again. Nonetheless, after all this time, I feel a special sympathy for those stories. And I'm not referring only to my own forgotten stories. But to all those stories each of us has locked inside a forgotten chest of his memory, while they could be in the edge of their mouth as recounting them to others. Those stories, and every single experience in our life, has its own unique gifts to offer. But since we decided to forget them, they are all gone and missing. However, even though I consider some memories forgotten and lost inside my mind's shadows, there are moments were I speak out words forged by knowledge and experiences that I never remember my self wielding. Isn't that wonderful? Isn't that unique? Those memories are hidden inside us, and even though we have placed them aside and forgot them, they are always there to spare their wisdom when needed. Sometimes, we might think that we are just recounting to people our life's great story or a unique experience of ours, but this great story will always be accompanied by other suplamentary stories that slipped away from our attention, but they continue offering us their wisdom and the knowledge to forge our own experiences and lessons in life. Yet, we don't remember those stories, but only the great ones. There are times I can imagine myself unlocking some forgotten chests in my memory to reveal their content, but it is usually rotten and half-left. "You came back too late", I remind myself in these situations, so that one day I will be able to apreciate every single of my memories and keep them in my memory. I'll make the decision to travel in time, and visit an old castle which is now nothing but ruins. It was probably raided by an army and people wrote stories for this war, or maybe it was just forgetten and Death took it by his side as if it is an old man. I walk inside, I can imagine the people walking here and there to complete their daily tasks. I see some elves and sorcerers! Maybe it was a castle of another world. "Excuse me there boy, where do I park my dragon?", I heard an old man saying. "In the dragon stable, sir", the boy replied. In the market there was this sorcerer buying his potions, while the knight sharpened his sword to fight the next monster. The princess would be the prize. So many tales in just a few moments. Those small moments were the ones to forge this great castle piece by piece, and without them there would be no great battle to be written in books. Yet, those small moments are all forgetten since the castle has been ruins. All you see now is ashes, cracked stones and... a light, a hope. The water in the creeks begins to glow thanks to the sun's rays that come through the broken windows. And then, you see some shadows, I swear they were dancing some wonderful, distinct dance, like those creatures in the castle centuries ago, as if they have never been forgotten.

My Kickstarter campaign for my novel is live now! Sept 2019. Universal Chaos - Paladin, a Space Opera novel. The first book in the series. https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/universalchaos/universal-chaos-paladin

A True Warriors oath With our fists we love to fight With our energy we like not to spite But nothing is ever better than a great fight wether it is dark against light Or just one guy vs another guy No matter the conditions a fight is a fight Strength verses might Without weapons, without armor The greatest fight we will ever fight may go on internally as our dark vs our light But nothing can beat a good ole fist fight(or whatever the Alien is gonna call it) We gain Energy from each and every defeat,once we heal, that much stronger will we be. still standing we will be no matter how many times we fall in defeat We shall never l flee, if evil is stronger, we WILL NOT FLEE. Scared are not we, We who fight without a need For Glory, the love of it, and for the protection of Free

"Aw come on, don't look at me like that..." Dammit. Those enormous eyes were staring at me like I'd just ordered its execution. How could I just leave t there? I had no idea how to explain this to my wife. In my days of adventuring and travel, I'd brought home all kinds of strange things. It was my job, after all; people paid good gold for retrieving artifacts or rare ingredients, heirlooms, whatever they needed. I was their man. Enchanted swords, disembodied eyes that still blinked, satyr hair, even a haunted mirror had all come home with me at some point. My dear Evelina had made peace with it long ago, provided I got rid of my findings in a reasonable amount of time. But the dog-sized baby dragon currently trying to follow me home? I may have finally pushed my luck too far. It made a little warbly noise in its throat, almost like a muted cry. It peered up at me, seemingly seeing right into my soul with its massive green eyes. Its white body shimmered in the light, scattering beams of sun into the mouth of the cave I'd found it in. As far as I could tell, it had been abandoned. Remnants of two other shells, long dried out and disintegrating into the sandy floor, indicated its red and yellow siblings had hatched long ago. The white shell, however, had been still damp from its occupant. The poor thing was mewling pathetically, probably from loneliness, when I found it. Dragons were social creatures, after all. Oh, hell. I let out a long sigh. How could I leave it here, knowing its parents weren't coming back for it? I looked at it. It looked at me. I tried to shut out my traitorous compassion and be logical. It purred and gently pawed at my leg. I lost the battle. "Alright, fine," I growled, not truly angry at it but frustrated by my weakness. The little dragon gave a happy chirp and fluttered its winglets excitedly. A little puff of smoke shot out of its nose. I shouldered my bag and set off down the road. The dragon puttered ain't beside me, green eyes practically glowing with happiness. Tiny claws made a small clattering noise on the uneven cobblestones of the road. I reached down and stroked its wings, eliciting a delighted purr. Maybe Evelina would be swayed by this thing's cuteness. I hoped. Otherwise, I wouldn't be sleeping on the couch, I'd be single.

Her once vibrant curly mess of red hair flows behind her, highlighted with tones of faded red and grey to show time passed. It's been years since she saw the building that she called home, hugged the woman who raised her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” asks Ripley as he puts his hand gently on her shoulder. Winnie smiles sweetly at him. “I do Ripley”. He gives her a kiss. Winnie and holds onto his hand, and knocks on the door. Winnie hears the muffled sound of movement coming from the other side of the door. She clenches onto Ripley's hand rather tightly, making him wince but not letting her hand go. Finally, the door opens and a women's head pops out. “Ya need help with somethin'?” asks the woman in a harsh English accent. Winnie's heart sinks at the sight of this woman; she looks familiar, but she is not Mrs. Luella, she's too young. Her hair is only slightly greying, no large lines on her face yet, but prominent bags hang under her eyes. “Oh, I'm sorry, I'm looking for Mrs. Luella, is she here?” Asks Winnie, still half hopeful. “Aye, I'm Mrs. Luella” says the woman. “Oh no, I mean Ruth Luella, is she here, or do I have the wrong house?” The woman shakes her head. “No ma'am, you have the right house I am-ey! ey stop that! Don't you see that I am talking to someone? Now pipe down for five minutes! Sorry, These brats get louder as time goes on, I'm sorry Miss, but Ruth Luella passed away 5 years ago, I'm her daughter”. Winnie's heart falls into her stomach, she clenches tighter onto Ripley's hand. He holds onto her arm and tries to soothe her. “It's okay darling,” He says hoping to calm his panicked wife. She looks over to him, then back to the woman standing in front of her. “Wait…but Mrs. Luella couldn't have kids, her husband died, this is Mrs. Luella's orphanage isn't it?” Says Winnie, confused. The woman nods. “This is the orphanage,” she says. “And you're her daughter?” Asks Ripley. Again the woman nods. “Yes I am, I took over after me mum died…she adopted me when no one else would. I know I wasn't her top choice to adopt, but she gave me love till the day she died”. Winnie could feel the tears building up in her eyes, threatening to break through at any moment, Ripley moves his arm around Winnie's shoulder and holds her tightly. “Okay…I'm sorry to intrude, have a good day” Winnie chokes out. She walks down the steps, leaning on Ripley for support. “It's okay darling”, he whispers. They are about to leave when the woman's voice calls her back “Wait!” She shouts. They both turn and look at the woman still standing in the doorway. “Ya remind me of someone!” She continues. Winnie looks at the woman, her eyes are squinting at Winnie, then suddenly she gestures for her to come back; Winnie walks back up the steps “An old friend of mine used to have hair exactly like that…she ran away from here almost 25 years ago; they never found her. I always hoped she was alive but after a while I had to-‘ey! Stop it what did I tell ye! Winnie! Get over here at once!” Every muscle in Winnie's body tenses up. The pitter patter of small feet running to the door gets louder and louder, then suddenly a small girl runs into the doorframe, clinging onto the woman's skirt, she's young, can't be more than seven years old, her wavy long brown hair flowing just like her Mum's hair did so long ago. “Lulu…” Winnie says. The woman looks up from her daughter, slightly confused. “Aye, that's my name, how did you-“ Her words cut off, eyes growing twice as large. Tears spill out of Winnie's eyes once she is sure Lulu has realized who she is. “W-Winnie?” Winnie nods and the two women immediately throw their arms around one another, sobbing uncontrollably. “You're alive! You're alive I thought you died! They told me you died but you're alive!” Lulu sobs. The two of them stay in this embrace for a while, crying in joy the whole time. “Mommy, why are you crying”. Says the little girl. They both look down and wipe away the tears streaking their faces. Lulu bends down and picks little Winnie up. “Darling, this is the most important person in my whole life, yer named after her, this is your Aunt Winnie”. She looks up shyly at Winnie, still clutching onto her Mum. “…I like your hair”. She says shyly. Winnie bursts out laughing and gives little Winnie a kiss on the forehead. Lulu puts little Winnie back down onto the ground and hugs Winnie once again. Lulu looks over Winnie's shoulder to Ripley standing on the walkway. “This your husband?” She asks. Winnie nods and runs down the steps, grabbing Ripley's hand and pulling him up. “This is Ripley…Ripley this is Lulu, she was my best friend when I was here”. Lulu grabs his hand and pulls him in for a hug, laughing and tears marking her face. “Yer lucky to have her”. She says as she lets go of him. Ripley looks at Winnie and grabs onto her hand. “I know”. Lulu begins to cry once again, pulling Winnie in for another tight hug, bringing Ripley in as well as still holds tightly onto Winnie's hand.

Imagine, a life where every little thing that goes on around you becomes a title and or a story. That is my life. That is also the life of my daughter. Everything we see and do turns into a story. We spend hours talking about this. We feel like we will always have something to write about. Why? Because we are writers. A woman down the street goes into her house, but before she does you notice she looks around. A writer's mind begins to weave a story. Sarah came home from work early. She was not carrying in groceries. She looked hurried. She stopped long enough to see if anyone noticed she was home early. The next thing you know Sarah is married, and she's having an affair. She popped home to check on the new puppy her husband of three years got for her. When Sarah exits the house, she no longer has on her work clothes. She wears some skimpy top that hardly covers her skin. The title; Secret Affair! You're a gifted writer. You go out for a jog along the beach, assuming you have a beach nearby. You've been jogging for hours, or so it seems. You decide to stop for a bit and enjoy the waves crashing on the shore. You stop, turn, and begin stretching. You know you can't just stop. That's just not good for your body. As you do your cool down exercises the sounds begin to waft into your writer's head. You sit on the cool sand to listen to the waves. The next thing you know; There are two ships on the horizon. You can't tell what kind of ships they are. They are too far away. Your imagination fills in the gaps. The two ships that really were not there, turn into pirate ships. Now you can see them firing away at each other. You can smell the gun powder. You can hear the voices of the captains clearly now. The cannon fire is super loud in your head. The Title; The Adventures Of Captain John It is mid-spring. You are out working in your garden. Even writers have to clean up their flower beds. As you rake the rubbish out from around your perennials your mind goes into writer mode. Suddenly you're no longer in your garden. You are now on a path in the forest. You can hear the wind forcing its way through the tops of the trees. It is still Spring, so you can still hear the sounds of the baby birds chirping for their food. That has blended into your imagination. As you go deeper into the forest it gets darker. Your conscience asks how long you have been working in your flowers. Your writers' mind tells you to carry on. Further up the path, you see a cabin. It looks empty. You feel a bit chilly. You head towards the cabin. The Title; Cabin In The Woods. You are traveling to your sisters' house. You are on a busy interstate. Everyone knows it's faster to take the interstate. A police car speeds past you. Yes, your writer's brain works even in the car. Mine does, for sure. Your imagination kicks in and that police car is now chasing a criminal. Reality says that police person has caught a speeder. That writer's mind weaves a tale. The police person is on a high-speed chase. Someone didn't pay for their gas. The same someone is actually a drug runner. A tip was called into the Hiway patrol. The title; Danger On I - 80. A writers mind is a wonderful thing. It's a gift. Like any other gift, you must take care of it. Keep your mind sharp. Pay attention to the stories that develop there. Write every day. Make sure you have some way to record the stories that pop into your mind. You never know when one of those stories will turn your life around. Every story could be the next best seller!