Delia Needed!

THUMBNAIL_IMAGEHow_to_Milk_a_Butter_Cover_for_KindleThe Buffalo Small Press Book Fair is on the horizon. At the event, I will be showcasing both How to Milk a Butterfly, Case of the Caged Killer, and hopefully some material, if not the completed sequel to Butterfly: “Delia Meets the Duggans”.

On the poster, I am planning to design an image of “Delia”. However, to do this…I need a “Delia”. If you or someone you know have a daughter between the ages of “8-12″, both you or they and “Delia” would like to be advertised in public, please let me know. This image will be used for the vinyl poster in this event and probably similar events in the future.

DeliaFor the image, I would like “Delia” dressed in nice clothes. Think Victorian era (bonus points for a parasol. Alternatively, “church” clothes or a cute outfit for “fancy” occasions should also work. The chosen “Delia” with get a copy of the poster and autographed copies of the first book and second, as soon as its available in print.


And so it begins…again…

Howdy folks!

My work schedule is becoming more consistent and actual time to write is coming about. That being said, I have returned to the “Butterfly” sequel: Delia Meets the Duggans. This story is long overdue. I just hope my collaborators will still be interested in contributing illustrations. Nothing a little contract negotiations can’t fix.  ;)

Main-Banner-IV2Besides keeping a promised to some cherished friends, I will be using this book as a springboard for my return to writing. In doing so, I have applied to be a vendor at the Buffalo Small Press Book Fair. All goes well, I will have a both to showcase my two publications (and hopefully a third if I get cracking on that sequel).

Regardless of whether or not the fair occurs, updates will continue on progress and plans for future endeavors. Some time this week, I will give the projects area a face-lift since my writing/publishing directions have changed over the past few months. Thank you for continuing to support uncaffeinated and my work.

Let’s get this party (re)started!


2:18 a.m.

$T2eC16hHJGUFFh0)bUFiBSOFtJ!)Lg~~60_35It’s 2:18 a.m.. The young woman closes the lid to her laptop after finishing, yet another, message to a stranger on the Internet. “Why do I do this?” she thought to herself. The digital world is filled with other people, throwing out the dice of life, trying to make contact with a kindred soul…but it’s still difficult to make that connection. Most of the men she encounters are dim-witted, albeit pretty, but carry no substance, no depth, no character. The women she talks to are disinterested, hipsters, who just want to dabble in the taboo, rather than attempt a meaningful relationship.

She slides back her desk chair, gets up, and saunters over to the liquor cabinet to make a drink. Even though she’s alone, the young woman wears a seductive, black silk ensemble. Her long leg parts the fabric of her gown as she pivots around the Italian leather sofa directing herself towards the cabinet across the room from her desk. A long time passed since she wore lingerie for someone else, but there’s no reason a girl can’t pamper herself on occasion. She can still smell the citrus and coconut scent of her body wash from the long, luxurious bath she took earlier that evening.

Perusing the refreshments, she decides to make an “Old Fashion”. “Something simple,” she thought. It’s late and I should get some sleep before my shift at the hospital in the morning. The day was certain to be busy since it was Monday and all the crazies from the weekend filled the wards from their hedonistic endeavors. Not the she minded caring for the folk, it was her job, but you’d be surprised at the number of “regulars” that one would encounter working in her line of business.

Rough, lads who took one too many shots to the face suffering the ills of a fresh concussion would be waiting for her words of encouragement while they lay prone in bed. Prostitutes who let their “Johns” get too carried away in the moment, belting out the frustrations of their mundane lives on these poor, young, girls would cry on her shoulder as she told them everything would be ok. And the drunks. The old, long forgotten derelicts of society. They were there for the food. It was a quick in and out from their “B&B” as it was known on the streets for those that needed a good meal or a place to stay during inclement weather.

As she began to uncork the bottle of “Fighting Cock” bourbon, a breeze wafts in and blowing part of the tresses of her hair into her eyes. “Did I leave a window open?” she questioned herself, out loud. The the floor creaked. “Thank god for my decision to rip up the carpets last spring,” she thought to herself. Without making an significant movements in response to the noise, the young woman tilted back the mirrored cover of a curio box containing cigarettes and an ashtray. Looking through the reflection of the lid, no movement could be seen around her vicinity.

She popped a nice, fat cube into her tumbler and mixed the contents of the “old fashioned” into a shaker filled with ice, beginning its chill. She capped the shaker and carried out a brisk, but short shake to its contents as she continued to look through the mirrored curio lid.


It was quick, but a figure darted from her bedroom door to the floor behind the couch to her back. She took a brief pause, tasted the contents of the shaker, and added a splash more of bitters. The shaking continued.

Suddenly, the figure announced itself by leaping from behind the couch with a long blade flashing overhead, slicing towards the head of the young nurse. Before the sword’s arc completed, the nurse quickly spun while simultaneously dropping to the floor and throwing up the contents of her drink into a spray covering the saboteurs face. She then made a quick roll to her left, putting the end table of the couch between her and the assassin.

Feeling along the soft, smooth flesh of her leg as she crouched behind the table, she found the grip of a palm knife tucked into the sheath on her garter. The polished maple was welcoming as she took it into her hand and unsheathed the deadly blade. Always with her eyes on the new guest, she rose up as the attacker began to spin in her direction, arching the sword, once again, this time aiming for her throat.

Quickly twisting and arching backward into a one-handed back-flip, the woman came down steadily on one knee, poised for action as the guest’s blade cleaved through the shade of a very expensive lamp that was set on the end table. “That was an antique, “ she thought to herself.

Just as the swing made its way through the completion of its arc, the nurse sprang from her stance, tumbling over the couch into another one-handed flip, this time completing the maneuver with her legs clamping around the stranger’s neck. She followed through with the momentum, continuing the swing of her body like a pendulum passing below the assassin’s waste as she brought her weight down, yanking the unsuspecting figure into the end table, which they then hit with their head as they came crashing down to the floor. Quickly spinning in a crouch as she returned upright, the young woman continued her movements to twist over and on top of the assailant’s chest.

Grabbing the collar of their gi, our internet dater quickly pushed the wicked point of the blade into the neck of the, now, unwelcome guest. The blade was not forced enough to puncture, but did pierce the flesh which cause the guest to stiffen and halt their movements. The two parties looked at each other, secretly trying to determine what their opponent’s next move may be.

Silence…Then the stranger spoke first.

“I thought I had you,” a female’s voice stated as she took in quick and steady breaths. Attempting to buy time as she regained her wind.

“Your first mistake was opening the window,” the woman proclaimed as she held the assailant in a compromising position. She continued, “Your second mistake was attacking me before I had finished making my drink.”

Silence…The young woman spoke again.

“Your final mistake was not calling me after our date,” she said calmly as she punched the blade deep into the throat of the assailant. Blood began to gush from the wound as the dying heart pumped blood through the circulatory system of the expiring attacker. The young woman moved before any of the life-giving fluids made contact with her lingerie.

Turning back to her liquor cabinet, the young woman place the bloodied knife on the cabinet top and returned to making another “Old Fashioned”. Then she could put an end to another, unsuccessful, encounter with a date. As soon as she poured the drink, she made her way back to her desk, stepping over the corpse and a single lotus rolled out from the hand of the dead assassin.

Too little, too late, love…