Posted by: April Hawks | October 16, 2015

Exhalation and fear


Yesterday was an interesting day. I have been silent on this blog for a VERY long time. In February of this year, Spencer and I spent ten days in the Barbara Bush Children’s hospital, due to a virus that created pus filled blisters on his fingers, which then got infected, blisters in his throat, difficult breathing associated with croup, difficulty swallowing from the sores in his throat,  fever, and low blood counts. After ten days, we were released to go home, which was wonderful because he had taken the full course of antibiotics while we were there. We still don’t know what the virus was, but it was horrific and Spencer was miserable. But we got to go home, finally.

Within days of being home from Spencer’s hospital stay, I got pain in my abdomen. I threw up. Then, I felt better. By that, I mean I was not throwing up. After a few days of reprieve, I was up all night with what I thought to be gas in my abdomen. Then, I threw up again. I was encouraged to go to the Emergency room to rule out appendicitis. I am grateful to the friends that pushed me to go. Apparently I have a high tolerance for pain, and what I thought was gas was really my appendix (which does NOTHING) deciding its job was too hard and quitting on me. According to the doctor, my appendix was ‘hot’ and he had to take it out. Immediately.

After an emergency appendectomy, I was sent home to recover. My appendix had been very close to bursting which is why I am so grateful to my friends. My recovery could have been much, much worse.

I tried to lay low (hahaha) with three kiddos at home and, at the time, a cat that thought my healing belly was the perfect place to jump onto and knead. She was wrong. At least from my end of it. She may have been right from hers.

Anyway, with all the crazy around me, despite my best efforts to stay calm and quiet and heal, my recovery lasted into about May.

June saw me gone most of the weekends. I went to Anthocon, in New Hampshire, and to shave my head with the 46 Mommas in Kansas City, where I hung out with my sister from another mister, Tiffany. Then, I went to New York City for the second half of the Wounded Warrior Program sponsored Writer’s Workshop at the Writer’s Guild of America East offices, where I also hung out with Tiffany.

July brought our whole family down to Indiana for three weeks, spending time with sisters, brothers, in laws, nieces and nephews. It was a busy time, with seven to eight kids in one house at any given time.

August was, thankfully, calmer. I got LOTS of cleaning and organizing done at home, Chris returned to Indiana to help install some hardwood floors, and much got accomplished.

School started. That brings evenings of chaos and homework.

Spencer turned six years old.

In September and October, I experienced (and indeed am still experiencing) a series of pinched nerves and muscle spasms in my back that produce moderately annoying pain to pain that I equate to the early stages of childbirth, where I couldn’t catch my breath to speak a sentence. Unfortunately, we already decided that I have a high pain tolerance, so I am not exaggerating. I have also since learned that I have slight scoliosis in my back. Fortunately, I was able to get some relief from a visit to the chiropractor.

Unfortunately, some dumb nurse in recovery after Spencer’s last Lumbar Puncture thought it was a good idea to wake him about thirty minutes in when he stirred a little. This caused an episode where Spencer was out of control and almost literally the embodiment of ten second tom from 50 First dates. He was upset about something, very very upset, and would get angry and sad about it. Ten seconds would pass and the cycle would start again. It was horrible. He had to be physically restrained to avoid him hurting himself or others. So I spent forty five minutes doing that until the anesthesiologist came over and administered propophol to try to reboot him. During this, I reinjured my back. Meanwhile, the nurse in question flitted away, chanting “I didn’t do anything” as she ran. So Spencer’s last spinal tap went out with a bang. And no, I am not saying I punched the nurse. But I did think about it.

October has been interesting, needless to say. I’ve been on pain meds a good amount of time, so scatter brained.

But I also reached over 40 thousand words in my first novel, so that is huge for me. I am back on track, after all the things life has thrown at me to derail me in 2015.

Yesterday, I spent a majority of the day at the Maine Children’s Cancer Program office, with Spencer. It was a milestone day. And the response to my postings on facebook are that I must be so relieved that this is over. And for me, it is only kind of over. Spencer still takes oral chemo until November fourth. November 5, is his first day in over three years that he will not be on treatment, or taking chemo, or waiting to see what his counts are to see if he can go back on chemo. So I don’t feel really “done” yet. We still have one round of steroids left. OY.

But, yes, him not being hooked up to an IV for chemo again is a beautiful thought.

There was even a ceremony at the clinic, where I read a plaque and Spencer rang a bell to signify the end of chemo. And I got a little choked up.

But even before we headed to clinic, I knew that relief was a very, very small part of what I was feeling. I have uncountable thoughts in my head and the minority are happy based. I am terrified. The thing that took the cancer away from my son will soon be gone. The meds that helped him get it gone are not going to be in his body anymore. What does that mean? It means I am terrified that it was only gone because he was on the meds and that now, it will come back. I know the doctors know what they are doing. I love them and all that they have done for us. But I am scared.

I feel terrible. I refuse to tell him that he won’t have chemo in his port ever again. I don’t feel like I can tell him that, and be honest. Because, the odds that he would get Cancer in the first place were not good. And he got it. There are decent odds that he will relapse with the same kind of cancer, or that he will get some form of secondary cancer from the treatment. And I would feel like shit if I told him he was done forever and I ended up a liar. I don’t want to lie to him and I am not confident enough that it wouldn’t be a lie. And that is a gut wrenching feeling.

I know that if he was diagnosed again, I could handle it. I could because I have. It is the scariest thing I have ever gone through. And we came out on the other side. But I know so many people, now, in this club that no one wants to be part of, that have had relapses, that have earned their wings, that have lost so much in the battle with cancer. I felt guilty, last night, for all the mommas and daddies that don’t get to ring the bell. That have funerals as the end of their journey. It breaks my heart for them. I don’t think that I even have words to express my sorrow for those families. I just have holes in my heart for them. For the angels. For their families.

The nurse, when I spoke my fear about lying to spencer, told me that I need to have hope. I am afraid to. It may seem silly, but I am. I look back on when Spencer was a toddler, and I was terrified about him going under anesthesia to have his umbilical hernia surgically repaired. And that fear that was so very real at the time, was minor, compared to waiting to find out the results of his bone marrow biopsy.

I am not minimizing ANYONE’s fears for their children’s health. Colds, pneumonia, surgeries, whatever it may be that is scary for you. That is still very real. I am not trying to one up anyone. I am just sharing my inner thoughts.

I also worry about what I am going to find out about who Spencer is as a person. Is he going to change some of the things that I love so much about him when he is done with the meds? For example, will he still read cookbooks for enjoyment when he is not on steroids? I am scared that so much will change.

I am used to the schedules, to the appointments. I am used to expecting that there will be an asshole in the recovery room that I have to argue with. I am used to fevers meaning ER. I am used to what the meds do to his body and what meds he needs to fix the things that are wrong. For upset tummy, he gets Zofran. For hurting tummy, famotidine. For pain, he gets his owie meds. These, I know. There are schedules, calendars, doses, and it has been by these things that we run our life. I know there will be replacements that can be made, but the structure of these things will be gone.

And so, swirling around with the relief that we are nearing the end of this three year journey- the one that actually in hindsight, flew by- I am terrified, and sad. And much more.

And of course, I am afraid that he’s going to get a fever. Fever was the first symptom of the cancer. And what if the fever means the same thing, but we miss it because he can take Tylenol to reduce it again? We caught it so quickly. I am scared to death we won’t again. But at the same time, I do know that the clinic will be there, and Spencer’s doctor (who will soon be the first phone call we make, instead of the clinic) was the beautiful woman that found his cancer in the first place. I have faith in them. But my fear is bigger.

I also know, that we have warning this time, in terms of the big change in our lives. When he was diagnosed, it was sudden and BOOM, we were in the middle of learning about this thing that he had- Cancer. This has been a three month transition. First, was the last Spinal Tap. Second was the final IV chemo. There will be port removal, then there will be the last meds. It is a more drawn out process.

We learned about what the numbers they gave me meant. ANC, Hemoglobin, Lymphoblasts, I kind of feel like I studied Algebra for three years as an English Major. What will I do with that info now? I mean, I can spout numbers in relation to advocating for childhood cancer research. So that is a plus.

I am not at all sure what the point of this post is, in terms of anything. I know that I wanted, in some small way, to share what is going on in my head. There is relief, yes, but so much more.

Posted by: April Hawks | November 25, 2014


It is six twelve am and as usual on a Tuesday, I am awake and there is chaos running amok in my head. In the forefront is the song “Say Something.” I have no particular reason to have that song in my head, no particular relevance of it. It is just there, playing quietly as I compose this blog.

Then, underneath the song, I have bits and pieces of so much. I had an odd dream last night that I went in to have my head shaved and the woman did it with a straight edge razor and cut into my ear so she could shave the part behind my ear. I mean she told me to brace myself and cut straight down into the top of my ear about an inch to an inch and a half. So I have flashes of that particular dream and the phantom dream pains that I keep remembering.

Flitting through all of that, like a drunken swarm of bees, are the smaller “I have tos” that comprise my daily life and the less small ones (drunken hornets, perhaps) that comprise the next month and a half. “I have to finish cleaning for thanksgiving, which will be at our house” (sting) “I have to plan with the group that is coordinating the craft night at the school” (sting) “I have to help the boys get through another day and a half before break” (sting) “I have a party to plan for my sister” (sting) “then her wedding, for which we all need clothes” (sting) The drunken hornets are more insistent than the bees and a bit more alarming in terms of the time in which I have to complete the tasks. And surrounding all of this is the fact that an unexpected but much appreciated addition to all this MAY be on the horizon. In kind of an in my face (as it would be the first weekend in Dec) way.

But the first thing I did this morning, after waking Austin up to get ready for school, was log on to Facebook and drink my coffee. I noticed a few posts about feminism and gender stereotypes and I was all over commenting on those. I love posts like those because I get to either agree wholeheartedly with like-minded individuals, or I get to present logic in the face of fallacy. Either way, I enjoy it.

Here’s where I got snagged. I followed a link that led to the page for the MaxLove Project. I had the opportunity to briefly meet Audra Wilford at the 46 Mommas Shave for the Brave event in Boston in July. You may be familiar with her from her appearance on Jimmy Kimmel with her son, Super Max. He creates amazing things out of rainbow looms and Jimmy Kimmel helped them raise $100,000 by auctioning off a suit made from Rainbow Looming.  There was a lot of activity surrounding the shave event, so I was not able to sit down and chat with Audra, but she was there and I was there. She is in the running for L’Oreal’s Women of Worth campaign and a grant for the MaxLove Project. Though I was unable to converse with her other than a ‘hi’, I can see the influence of her caring around me. MaxLove donated hats to cover up our bare noggins after we went bald. They gave a twilight turtle to soothe sleep. MaxLove believes in a whole mind-body-sleep-food approach to health and fighting cancer. It is wonderful!

But I got caught up reading the stories. I am looking at pictures of children. Children aged the full gamut to teens and young adults. And some of the children for which the MaxLove Project has named their beautiful hats are still fighting. And some of them gave all they had in their fight. It haunts me, seeing little faces for so many reasons. For some, they won’t age any more than the photograph. For others, they are living after fighting a battle against things in their own bodies. Think of how sick you feel when you have a cold. When you have the flu. And we whine and we moan because we are so miserable. Now, imagine that the medicines that make you better, take that particular illness away, also make you feel worse. The original ailment is gone, but there are tons of other, new and painful symptoms. I am going to assume that you are an adult, simply because I am and that is how I am thinking of this. This walking thing, the thing you’ve been doing for a while? It is changed. It is made more difficult. You have pain in your legs and hips. Your ankles work different so your toe drops as you walk. You swing your leg from the hip instead of at the knee, like you used to. And that is in the easier cases.

In some cases the disease has caused loss of limbs, invasive surgeries, chemicals pouring into you every day. Steroids that change your mood, headaches. Needles in the spine. Needles in your chest where a port has been installed to aid in bloodwork and to get the chemicals straight to your heart to disburse easier. These are all things adults deal with and it is hard for them. Children handle it with courage, determination to not let it slow them down. With grace.

And yet, this monstrous disease still takes them. And I can’t even imagine. I hate that, for other parents, I HAVE to imagine to be able to relate in any sense.

I am not given to crying. I can count on one hand the amount of times I have cried about Spencer’s diagnosis. This is not bragging. I am not even saying that is healthy. I come close sometimes, though. And reading the stories on the MaxLove page has brought me close.

Every day, we live this reality. It is easier for our family, in many ways, than for other families. That does not mean this is easy. EasiER does not mean EASY.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.

My post, here, got long winded. I guess there are a few thoughts that I want to finish off with.

First…as you can see, my mind is chaos. Fragmented, probably, in some way.

Second…If you live in a colder climate, you need a hat, right? It’s getting to be winter, after all. Buy your hat, your friends and families’ hats, your neighbors’ hats from the MaxLove project. Each design has a story to tell. Heart wrenching, yes. But real. Help MaxLove fight back.

Third…even if you’re not buying a hat. You can donate to MaxLove or (or better yet, AND) you can donate to my St. Baldrick’s Campaign. I am a touch over the half way mark for the year. Please help me get closer to my goal. Childhood Cancer isn’t going away without help. Help us research for cures. Every dollar helps.

Posted by: April Hawks | November 23, 2014

Being Bald

I am coming upon the end of the year and my commitment to a shaven head. I will be purchasing new clippers so that I can maintain my hairless noggin so that I can continue with what I set out to do.

I rub my hand over my head. There is slight regrowth. To an extent, it feels like sandpaper or like when I run my hand over one of the boy’s newly clipped heads – except that on my scalp, I can feel the cool touch of my own hand. It is a feeling that is both familiar and foreign to me, still, after almost a month.

On July 27, 2014 my head was shaved. The proceeds I have been raising go to fund pediatric Cancer research. The bald head goes to raising awareness. I have a pin that says, “ask me why I’m bald”.

I get looks, curious looks. I don’t often wear my pin. I should though, because then people might understand, might even help. And that is, after all, why I did it. Part of the reason, anyway.

Another reason was to be part of something bigger. I was able to nationally bring attention to something that has become an integral part of so many lives.

Just within my family – limiting it strictly to the family my husband and I created – childhood cancer has changed the lives of six people. Each of us – my husband, myself, and our four boys – childhood cancer had made an impact. Like a meteorite upon the ground.

Then there are our parents, siblings, cousins, grandparents, our friends. That is a number exceeding fifty people that have seen the effects of childhood cancer, stemming from the diagnosis of one little boy. Childhood cancer is far reaching.

And there are countless other families that have experienced what we have…or worse. Some of the mommas I was blessed to shave with are “Angle Mommas.” It’s not a beautiful term, but I can’t think of any pretty wording for parents that have lost their children to this disease. It is heart breaking.

The weight of this diagnosis has been on our family for almost two years, as I write this. Two years of feeling helpless, to an extent. Two years of fear. Two years of faith. Two years of joy. Two years of stress.

I have so little control over this situation. I know, based on the evidence presented to us, that the doctors know what they are doing, and so I have willingly given the reigns to them in terms of what meds Spencer gets. I like the results they have shown. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not stressed out during steroid week, when my four year old is angry for almost everything.

And my hair was wild. It was untamable. It was thick and plentiful. It was heavy. It was mine. I had control over letting it go. I wanted to shave because Spencer lost his hair. He had no choice. I did.

Each hair that was clipped, I realized today, was the representation of fear and anxiety I have felt over the last two years. I have not counted my hairs – that would be foolish and a waste of time. But I am willing to believe that for each hair that I lost, I was scared one time. That is a lot of fear.

My head is much lighter, physically speaking. And emotionally, too. My hair would upset me, often. It never wanted to do what I wanted it to. I would throw a bandana to cover it instead of dealing with it, as it was too short to ponytail and too long to leave loose because it would get in my eyes.

Now, it is one less worry I have. I’ve retired my bandanas and proudly show off my shorn head. I shaved for me, for my son, for the angels and the survivors, for the parents – and for the research. If we can raise money that helps fund the research that finds a cure, then no more mommas or daddies would have to hear the heart stopping words. “Your child has cancer.” My hair is a very small price to pay for that.

Posted by: April Hawks | November 20, 2014

Meet Bob

zombie Blog header

I have been excited about this blog tour all damn month. Partly because I knew this day would come. AND HERE IT IS!!!

I’ll be honest, I had not read Jaime Johnesee’s work before, but the blog tour introduced me. I am hooked.

Anyone that can use National Lampoon’s Vacation movies (which are tradition in both the house in which I grew up and my own home with my own kids) in a freaking zombie book-in the first paragraph, no less- has me hooked.

Now, devouring this book:

Bob The Zombie - Jaime Johnesee - eBook

written by Jaime Johnesee. Hi Jaime. Welcome to Zombaholics Anonymous. (not so anonymous, I guess.)


Here is a bit more information about the rest of the series and the Zombie Blog Tour.

Bob is an ordinary guy. He likes classic rock, a good party, and tacos. It’s too bad that he is dead. Well, technically speaking, Bob is undead. After an accident claimed his life his mother couldn’t bear to bury him. A quick call to a necromancer fixed that problem and, voila…he was reborn!
Armed with a quick wit, a sharp intellect, some good friends, and his trusty stapler, Bob embarks on some crazy adventures that will make you laugh, make you cringe, and –most importantly– make you cheer for Bob to have a happy ending.
Get the three previously released Bob novellas, a new never-before-seen novella, and a BONUS short story!


Bob the Zombie

Bob the Spy

Bob the Valentine

Bob the Mentor


Bob the Hero

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of frozen rotted meat is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2014, with 10 of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don’t miss an interview, guest post or teaser… and pick up some great swag as well! Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them! #WinterZombie2014

Zombie Blog Tour Facebook

AND so you don’t miss any of the posts in November, here’s the complete list, updated daily:

Winter Zombie Blog Tour

Posted by: April Hawks | November 19, 2014

Spotlight on Sexual Abuse: Commenting on Cosby, abridged version

Since my mf blog post just vanished, here is the reader’s digest condensed version:

You may not agree that Bill Cosby in guilty. Great, fine. Whatever. But publicly saying that an accuser is “too ugly” to have been raped is despicable.Saying she “wishes” he had raped her is unacceptable.

Bashing someone that had the nerve to actually say that they were a victim of a horrendous, mentally scarring ordeal, at the hands of someone they trusted is beyond words. Things will never get better this way.

If you want to support Cosby, you can say that you think he is innocent without slinging shit around to boot. Unless you know what it is like to say out loud “I have been raped” keep your damn mouth shut about the person saying it. Just because he is famous doesn’t mean he is honest.

We can NOT continue to treat victims as people that are liars right off the bat. It is not uncommon to wait years and years before admitting abuse. Even to ourselves. It is also not uncommon to be abused.

I’m not saying one way or another what I think about his guilt. I am saying that we can’t automatically assume an alleged victim is a liar. And we can not tolerate seeing others do it either.

Posted by: April Hawks | November 10, 2014

Winter of Zombie Post List #WinterZombie2014




Here is the complete list and link to every post for the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2014… updated daily!

Saturday November 1st



Sunday November 2nd

Jack Wallen interview

Jaime Johnesee guest post


Monday November 3rd

Mark Tufo teaser

Shawn Chesser interview


Tuesday November 4th

John O’Brien guest post

Jack Wallen Interview


Wednesday November 5th

Jay Wilburn teaser

Bobby Adair guest post


Thursday November 6th

Eric A. Shelman interview


Friday November 7th

Joe McKinney guest post

Jay Wilburn interview


Saturday November 8th

Jack Wallen teaser


Sunday November 9th

Jaime Johnesee interview

Shawn Chesser guest post


Monday November 10th

John O’Brien guest post

Jay Wilburn guest post


Tuesday November 11th

Armand Rosamilia interview

Eric A. Shelman interview


Wednesday November 12th

Mark Tufo short story part 1

Bobby Adair interview


Thursday November 13th

Mark Tufo short story part 2

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Posted by: April Hawks | November 10, 2014

The Zombies are COMING!!!!

November is all about the zombies. You may not have known it, yet, but it is true. Armand Rosamilia has coordinated a Zombie Blog tour consisting of guest posts and interviews from some of the biggest and best in the field of Zombie lore. I’m not even going to lie…I am pumped that my blog is going to be home to one of these authors!!!

Now, I thought for a moment that I would be able to reblog each of these into an individual post. HOWEVER, I am technologically inept, and can’t figure out how to do that from here. SO I am going to link you all, Right Here. This is a daily breakdown of the blog tour. Also, since I do know how to do this, I am going to Reblog Armand’s post, separately. They each deserve their own post and if I could do that without copy/paste, then I totally would. If you know how to, let me know. I am clueless.🙂

Now, put down your neighbor’s arm, wipe the blood off your face, and drag that dangling foot as fast as you can to the 2014 Zombie Blog Tour

Posted by: April Hawks | September 13, 2014

Cancerversary the Second

August 31, 2014 has come and gone. As some of you know, that date marked two years since our littlest boy was diagnosed with Cancer. If you don’t know, he was diagnosed three days shy of his third birthday.

Spencer spent his third birthday in the hospital, surrounded not only by other children that were ill, but also the kindest and sweetest staff of doctors and nurses I have encountered.

This year, as his cancerversary rolled around, yet again, I took time to contemplate all that this warrior and the rest of our warrior family has been through in the last two years. It has been more than I would have hoped for, or even wanted, in many ways. We went from a family enjoying the last weekend of our eldest son’s summertime visit to going to the doctor’s office with a little boy who was burning with fever and inconsolable in every way. At that time we were still hoping that it would be something that had a quick fix.

Instead, we joined a club that no one wants entrance into. Everyone knows someone that has or has had Cancer in some form. Most of us know more than one. And once you’ve received a diagnosis for your child, it seems that everywhere you look, there is another warrior in the club. OR, more devastatingly, you see warriors that fought one last battle and earned their wings. We were blessed to have met so many brave soldiers in the fight against cancer and I keep in my thoughts every day those friends that we have lost along the way or then new friends that lost a warrior before I ever met them.

As tragic as the stories I have heard about the angels are, I have found more hope and love from their families and friends than I could have imagined. I have spoken to parents that have been smiling amidst the tears streaming down their cheeks, telling me about how, in the midst of tragedy, jokes and optimism rang out.

And so, I can realize now how sad I was the weekend of the 30th and 31st. I don’t think it TOTALLY sunk in then, though I had a suspicion. And despite my longing to just sty at home and cuddle with Thug Monkey, who has now undergone TWO YEARS of treatment and, yet, is still not done, I packed him into the van and we went to the Windsor Fair and hung out with my sister and her co-workers from the Children’s Discovery Museum in their tent. He had a wonderful time eating cotton candy and chasing people around and playing with the animals in the touch tank. He was tired and he was sore from some of his medications and I had to give him pain meds at one point. But, in true Thug Monkey spirit, he pushed through all that and ran himself and everyone he played with ragged.

After that, we went with my sister to her apartment and hung out with my brother, other sister, and my Dad and we ate pizza. And still, he was tired but not enough so to prevent him from eating large quantities of his uncle Dan’s crab meat.

After a full day, Spencer fell asleep in the van on the way back home. He had a wonderful day. I had time to think and appreciate the fact that he still CAN have days, wonderful and not, and to remember how lucky we are.



Posted by: April Hawks | May 30, 2014

Story A Week Challenge so far…

As you may or may not be aware, I have decided to undergo the challenge of writing one story every week for the whole year of 2014. Currently, the week that we are in the midst of is week 23. I am currently about to begin my story that I should have done on week 18. I am working on closing my five week gap. I have a notebook full of prompt ideas and periodically ask my facebook friends to supply me with numbers corresponding to the prompts in my book. (For example “Pick a number between 1 and 62” was for this week’s request.) I grab the numbers, in the order they come in, and assign them a week and then I get to work.

Below is the list of stories I have compiled, so far, on my journey in 2014. I am already very proud that I have stayed as focused as I have.

Week 1) Purple on Blue (Prompt from Tuesday Mayhem Society)

Week 2) Until the Sandman Sleeps (For a Submission Call)

Week 3) Everything in the Kitchen Sink (For a submission Call)

Week 4) Carlotta’s Wall (Scott Goudsward)

Week 5) Pizza Delivery (Working Title) (Prompt from Tuesday Mayhem Society)

Week 6) Christmas Magic (Suggested by Kimberly Coon)

Week 7) Rising Tide (Suggested by Melissa Favro)

Week 8) Embedded (Suggested by Tammy Humphries)

Week 9) Spare Change (suggested by Renee Nelson)

Week 10) Hell Bent (Suggested by Tiffany Prowant)

Week 11) Nostori (working title) (for a call for an anthology)

Week 12) Hope (suggestion unable to be located)

Week 13) Harold (From Tuesday Mayhem Society Prompt)

Week 14) Serial Juror (From Tuesday Mayhem Society prompt)

Week 15) The Nominee (Prompt Selected by Torrey Shannon

Week 16) Egan (Prompt selected by Kim Coon)

Week 17) Sea Foam (Working Title) (Prompt selected by Tonya Green)

Love the energy of this post!

Author, editor, caffeine-addict, wannabe ninja

So here we are, Women in Horror Recognition Month, 2014… and what a sad state of affairs it’s been. Over the last few weeks I’ve read a plethora of posts and blogs and forums both for and a reasoned post against WiHM; some made me applaud while others made me want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon.

In part one of my WiHM post, I mentioned my support of the month (and for those women who write/read/film/act in this amazing genre), and my despair for its need. Yep, I said ‘need’, and that makes me sad. To my knowledge, I’ve not been the subject of gender-bias within the industry, but I’d be a fool to say it doesn’t happen. All one has to do is read a couple of comment threads to know that it is real and it’s out there, clubbing its Neanderthal way through the…

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