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Book Review: Hex by Thomas Olde Heuvelt

Wow! Holy. Freaking. Cow. This was my reaction as I finished this book. Hex, by Thomas Olde Heuvelt, tells the story of the small town of Black Springs, which is inhabited by a 350-year-old witch. Her eyes and mouth are sewn shut, and she's shackled by chains, yet she still gets around. Quite a lot. She appears at different places all over town, in people's homes and the grocery store. Sometimes she walks around, hobbles is the more correct term, and other times she just stands there. For hours. Days sometimes. All of the residents know about her. They're also cursed and cannot leave. Once, someone snipped one of the stitches on her mouth, and she was then able to barely whisper. When anyone hears this whispering, they go mad and commit suicide. And there's even an organization, under the supervision of West Point, called Hex which tracks her location, keeping it updated on the iPhone app everyone in town has. There are rules. Outsiders can never know about her

The Birth of My First Beast (Or The Story of Writing My First Novel)

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      If you’ve read my novel, A Murder of Saints , you may find this interesting. If you haven’t, perhaps this will encourage you to go purchase it.      A Murder of Saints  is something that began way back in 2007. The idea sprung from something which occurred at a church where I had attended youth group in my teen years. Mind you, all that sprung was the idea . The actual events were nowhere near as bad or as far-reaching as the events that unfold in my novel. But a seed was planted in my brain through witnessing a terrible event transpire inside a place where no such thing should ever occur.      Not that it should occur anywhere. (NOTE: for those who haven’t read the book yet—intrigued? You should be.)      So, some years later, I was in college taking a creative writing class, and working on short stories. They were fun little tales, nothing I’m terribly proud of particularly, but nothing I’m ashamed of either. They reflect a young man with a broad imaginat

Attempting to make a splash...

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     Splash.      It's one of those words, isn't it? I mean, virtually any word in the English language (and I presume other languages as well, though I do not speak them) can start to sound strange or funny or weird after a while, especially if you say it over and over again. The meaning the word is meant to convey starts stripping away from the surface, the sounds of the letters arranged just so start to lose their unity and the word just starts to become...nothing. A sound. A mixture of syllables of meaningless gibberish.       Splash-splash-splash-splash-splash-splash-splash.      See what I mean? No? Maybe it's just me. But I believe it's true. And certain words are more susceptible to this than others. Like 'Mother' it seems harder to do, where 'chicklet' seems to dive straight into this very pit almost immediately.      So just what the hell is  a 'splash' anyway?      That's what I'm trying to figure out. I published my fir