“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Keep your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Keep those, the homeless, tempest-tost to the sea,
I snuff my lamp, I close the golden door!”
I have no story to share; only thanks to extend.
Thank you, sir. Thank you and Michelle for leading with strength and dignity. While I can only imagine the burden and scope of the office you took up and captained so well, I can know and appreciate how well the republic fared under your watch.
I wish you and your lovely family all the best not only for this coming new year but all years to follow.
Again, thank you,
J. Eric Laing
Dear Mr. President-elect Trump,
Congratulations on your victory. While you did not win the popular vote, you did succeed by the rules upon which this Republic was founded. And so, I respect that.
I will make no bones about it…you were not my choice. Your unbridled bigotry and almost passionate willingness to stoop at every turn to lower the bar of insults and mud-slinging seem to have neither filter nor check. In your race to one of—if not the—most powerful offices of this beautiful blue marble, a position that will determine the life, health, and happiness of not just the present but many generations and perhaps all generations to come, you gleefully swelled and wallowed in the putrid sty of divisions you created.
I have not come to this page to deride you or further a stance against you, however.
You, sir, are to be my nation’s President now. For better or worse. And so I can only wish you success in the former and hope we all avoid the latter.
But to my point of concern…. I opened my newspaper today to see that the Ku Klux Klan is celebrating your victory both online and publicly.
I understand that you did not seek this endorsement and have in fact have made small work of denouncing it. But, sir, a wave of hand and fleeting words of dismal are far and away not enough in this regard.
In light of the platform you ran upon, you can not look any rational man or woman in the face and say that this disgusting show of support and celebration surprises you. You planted this garden of weeds, and so it has bloomed. It is not enough for you to say you didn’t want this sick crop. You are to be our President now, sir. It is the field you cleared and tilled, the seeds you sowed.
It is upon you to step forward and plow it back into the earth to start anew before we are all left with nothing save for this foul harvest to dine upon.
From explorers discovering madness at world’s edge, to even greater insanity too easily at hand at the end of suburban cul-de-sacs, these are the strange and twisted tales whispered when the lost think they are alone.
Now on Kindle and paperback!
Cover art by Courtland Winslow
Released! Set free! It’s been loosed upon the unsuspecting public!
Cryptids and creeps. Deranged charlatans. Troubled souls seeking redemption or revenge. Strange things and weak, piddling people. Stories thick with lies. These are weird tales indeed, caught up someplace between myth and fact, without existing in either or maybe, once upon a time and place, true in both….
Kirkus Reviews did me the honor of naming my novel Cicada among their “Best Indie Books of 2012.”
Murder, sex, magic, and ancient Rome.
A serial killer preys upon those who are truly the most dangerous game…the gladiators. As the killer collects macabre trophies, it falls to the Prefect of the Night Watch to end the madness.
But this is Rome, where blood spills like wine, and dreams…they are all too often nightmares.