20 Days Until I Have Her

The last time I held her in my arms.

After much thought and reflection I've come to terms that I am not a blogger, at least not a traditional one. Many of you have come to that conclusion long ago and have moved on to greener pastures, or just stopped checking for updates all-together. I don’t blame you one bit. A traditional blogger… well… blogs every day, or at the very least, once a week. My last post was on MONDAY, OCTOBER 13, 2014.

The last 2 years of my life have been filled with a number of major life changes, some very high moments; getting engaged, buying a new house, finding out I was going to be a grandfather - and some very low moments; being dumped by my fiancé, having to sell my home, losing an aunt that was very special to me (which inspired me to write Stella that was published in Soul of the Universe), and losing my first grandchild to adoption. These are all things bloggers thrive on, sharing the highs and lows so that their fans and follows can share in their journey, and for the most part, I've failed to do that, and for that I am truly sorry. That is because I am not a blogger, I am a writer.

In Creeps The Night

Recently I had one of my short stories published in an anthology of creepy stories called, "In Creeps The Night." I'm very excited to be apart of this project. Not only do I get to share the pages with some amazing writers, but the profits from the sale of this book (both eBook and paperback) benefit Mother's Without Borders, a non-profit organization that helps orphaned children across the globe.

You can find my story, "The Shadow Man" on page 138. 

If you would like to enter for a chance to win a trade paperback copy signed by me, enter your email address below. Five (5) lucky readers will randomly be chosen. Contest ends 11PM CST October 22nd. If you win, I will ship your personalized copy within the U.S. for free. Other's outside of the U.S. will need to cover the shipping costs.

For more information on the book and the other authors, below is a posting from Blue Harvest Creative, the designers and marketing group behind the project.

PLEASE NOTE: IF YOU SIGNED UP ON 10/13 YOUR ENTRY DID NOT GET SUBMITTED DUE TO A SOFTWARE ERROR. PLEASE RE-SUBMIT YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS BELOW. THANK YOU!

Michael A. Walker

Defying Procrastination

Her Last Words

You see it in the movies often. Someone is holding a loved one in their arms, or holding their hand as they speak their last words. They take that last shallow breath and close their eyes; forever. Saving Private Ryan, Forrest Gump, and Steel Magnolias are a few movies that come to mind that employee this kind of heart wrenching plot twist to invoke emotion from the audience. As effective and moving as these movie tactics are, they pale to capture the pure, raw emotion of experiencing it firsthand.

What Mother Would Say?

My parents and I - circa 1969

"Has it really been twenty-five years? I've watched you grow from the heavens. Oh, how I've enjoyed it. You make my heart smile. I cry for you too. I know you want to be with me, but not now, son. Not now."

Michael A. Walker

Defying Procrastination

Charlie

Deadend, Tribeca, New York - Photo by Sean Ng

The sun retreated without promise of a tomorrow as darkness crept through the alleyways of the abandoned streets, devouring the remaining light without mercy. A putrid stench of death hung in the air like a suffocating fog, clinging to everything that it came in contact with.

Charlie couldn't smell it anymore. He hadn't in quite some time.

Buildings rose near endlessly into the sky around him like giant skeletons striped bare of their flesh. Once the pillar of modern civilization, now the streets of New York were nothing more than trackless miles of rusted steel frames and concrete mausoleums for the dead and hunting grounds for the eaters.

My Son

My Son

The pitter-patter of your feet echoes.

Your laughter travels with the wind.

My son, my son;

I can still hear you.

Wherever I go, you are there.

Your smile lights up the world.

My son, my son;

I can still see you.

Food on your cheeks, dirt on your neck;

Your sweet kisses heal my soul.

My son, my son;

I can still taste you.

A hard day of play, a clean bath to wash it away;

Your aroma reminds me of home.

My son, my son;

I can still smell you.

The warm embrace of your daily hugs linger;

Your soft little hand in mine.

My son, my son;

I can still feel you.

In loving memory of Chance Konkler

Michael A. Walker

Defying Procrastination

Redemption

Texas State Penitentiary at Huntsville – Parking Lot

I never thought this day would come. For 16 years I've waited to see justice served to the man who murdered my husband. For 16 years I've carried this burden. It nearly killed me, but that wasn't the worst of it. Death would have been a welcomed release from the torment I suffered. I thought about it often. I even tried a few times, but was too much of a coward to do it right.