There is a very distinct moment in a man's life. Where an indescribable euphoria takes hold firmer than that new band on your finger. It happens but once in a lifetime. If you're lucky. So gentlemen, who among you know that feeling?

You would think that I'm a lucky man because of how far I've managed to get in my writing career. You would be wrong. I am standing in the shadow of my luck.

Love is a tricky thought. Red blood like red wine abound. Love is a wet dream. Filthy wet. Drowning bones.

Through the intense rage found behind every literary rejection and the myriad of artistic trials and tribulations; my one constant has always been the love of my life. My wife. My muse.