Saturday, January 30, 2016

The Yellow Stone

Moma Kiowa was buried at daybreak. Lozan selected a grave atop the canyon walls, where Moma's spirit could overlook the Western horizon and watch over her when she journeyed again. Wind rushed across the mesa, chilling Lozan and thickening her tears into icy droplets upon her cheeks. Not a single petal adorned Moma's final resting spot: The flora had already relinquished its life to the changing weather. Chanters promenaded around the grave, moving their ceremonially dressed bodies in a slow, graceful dance.

Lozan gripped Winpee's hand as the ceremony ended and followed the villagers down the narrow path along the canyon's edge. A lifeless silence hovered over the burial party as they descended. Snow alighted to the ground, fluttering like feathers around her feet. It would be a long, cold winter without Moma Kiowa.

"The Yellow Stone," a short story about a woman's journey to discover the nature of her true homeland, can be read in its entirety in SPECULATIVE JOURNEYS: An Anthology of SciFi, Fantasy and Other Strange Tales. 

Sunday, August 10, 2014


Here is the opening scene from BREATHE, my new YA fantasy about a suicidal, street smart Philly girl who makes a deadly mistake by seeking comfort from a clan of mermaids who hunt and kill humans for sport . Who said mermaids were friendly?

Cocoa Beach, Florida

On the dark ocean floor, a warm body stirred. His eyes flicked opened as hands rubbed up against him, pushing him toward the light coming from above. He stretched his arms past his head, reaching upward as his powerful tail propelled him away from the black depth. Water glazed over his braids, his face, and his massive shoulders as he broke through the water’s surface and breathed.

Cool water slapped his chest as he cast his silver eyes on the coastline far ahead. The beach looked empty. It was too cold for sunbathers and too misty for a stroll. Perfect.

He trailed his hand along the braids that covered his head, fingering the amulets woven through them, hoping to add to their numbers that day. A tingling sensation worked its way up his back, his neck, to the top of his head. He swallowed, letting his anxiousness pass. And waited.

The mist turned into a light rain. The swells tossed him about in an erratic motion he found strangely invigorating. Finally, the human came into view, and his heart pounded. At the edge of the beach, he spotted his co-hunters, their long legs stretching across the sands as they herded the human closer to the water, as if they were all going to go for a swim. At least that’s what it should look like to anyone watching.

With a thirst building inside him, he squared his jaw and a shadow crossed his brow. It was time, and a smile reached his lips as that tingling feeling returned and snapped through his body, heightening that desire, that instinct he couldn’t repress.

He dipped below the surface and soared toward the shoreline, punching through blooms of jellyfish blocking his path. Within moments he neared the coast. Through the frothy surf rushing over his head, he focused on the trembling face of the human. The human pivoted back and forth on the sands, shaking like a trapped animal the moment it realized its doom. His co-hunters surrounded the human, preventing the human from running away. The human screamed, but the roar of the surf muffled his cries.

He was close enough now. With a flick of his tail, he leaped from the water, grabbed hold of the human on the shoreline, and then the body that had stirred on the floor of the ocean returned there with its prey.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

"River Path," a short story

Announcing the publication of my short story "River Path."

What do all avid bike riders have in common? The love of the road and the solitude that comes along with the long miles. Nothing is better than the feel of the wind caressing your face, or the smooth shift of the gears during a downhill run. And every once and a while you find the perfect path.

Ah, solitude. But sometimes the path is more than you bargain for and you have trouble finding your way home. That's what happens to Hanna Blake. Twenty years and counting and her husband James is still waiting for her.

"River Path" can be found in the inaugural issue of Phobos Magazine, Phobos One: Zugzwang at  edited by Robert Corry, Luke St. Germaine, and Adam Guy Halterman. It is currently available in Kindle format at a special price with book form coming out soon!

Saturday, August 17, 2013

The Steam Emporium

As one who seeks out the odd and unusual, I hit the jackpot today while attending the  Mount Gretna Outdoor Art Show. One artist's distinctive work categorically rocketed above the rest, and I mean that literally. It impressed me so much that I must share it. The Steam Emporium caters to the speculative fiction genre in outstanding steampunk fashion. Rocket packs, time machines, Edison sound and light components, bells, ray guns, steam sabers, ... I even came across a steampunk rocket ship. Everything I visualized when I read Cherie Priest's novel Boneshaker, or some of China Mieville's novels, was there to see, touch, and activate.

For those of you unfamiliar with the genre, steampunk is a subgenre of speculative fiction set in an alternative Victorian world where steam-powered machinery exists. Think industrial revolution, Jules Verne style. Grit, grease, steel and steam cover the streets.  If you are a lover of speculative fiction, you will lose yourself in The Steam Emporium's imaginative gadgetry. And if you're not a lover of all things scifi/fantasy and the weird? Well, spending time exploring the collection just might convert you.

Ed Kidera is the mastermind behind all the wonderful gadgetry. That's Ed standing next to his steampunk jetpack. In typical steampunk fashion, Ed uses recycled material for the majority of his work. Digital components have been added to introduce light and sound. Because of this, no two pieces are alike. Ed's work can be found online, or at art/craft shows throughout the states.

Visit The Steam Emporium online at or experience it live at the Mount Gretna Art Show in Mount Gretna, Pennsylvania, and plan to be amazed!

Friday, June 28, 2013

White Bread

                                                                        Stanley Kubrick for Look Magazine, 1949

White Bread

A stale moment frozen in time,
Like outdated pie,
or feet too scared to dance.

Those monochrome days choked in the smoke,
Like unwritten lines,
Creating boundaries so oppressive to the soul.


Like white bread.

                                   - T. M. Crone


White Bread was brought to you in conjunction with Magpie Tales.  Read more vignettes and poems from writers prompted by Stanley Kubrick's 1949 photo.

Friday, June 7, 2013


Below is a snippet from "Gator Meat," my short story about space walks for the terminally ill. It explores social injustices in the future.

"Gator Meat" can be read in its entirety in SPECULATIVE JOURNEYS, my anthology of previously published short stories found at in paperback or kindle format. This excerpt is well into the story after Becka Tubbs decides to leave her home in Florida's swamp land to accompany Baxter on his final adventure.


Leaving Swamp Town was the easiest thing Becka had ever done. It was Baxter's twenty-first birthday. After a brief celebration eating alligator jerky, she packed a small bag, nailed a plank across her swamp hut entrance to keep intruders out, threw half a decayed gator carcass onto the deck of her
least favorite neighbor, and then hitched a ride on a harvest truck with Baxter. Baxter didn't pack a bag.

They drove north up the coastline and then stopped when they reached the Cape. Becka helped Baxter off the truck, her faded khaki short spotted with peach pulp. Launch pads sat in the distance, a few with ships on them. Baxter led the way to a large steel complex with doors high enough for a mega giant's largest cousin to walk through. 

"All you need to do is stroll along like you own the place and nobody'll bother you," Baxter said.


Thanks for stopping by, and feel free to leave comments below.

Friday, March 1, 2013


Here is a snippet from my YA Urban Fantasy novel, SHATTER, for Science Fiction and Fantasy Saturday!  Making the final edits and will be querying soon.

SHATTER is a story about Rosilyn Piccolo, squatter kid extraordinaire, who unravels the mystery of her immortal boyfriend's disappearance with the help of an eclectic group of wharf-rat-wannabes and an ancient iron skillet. This is the opening.


Rosilyn Piccolo anchored her feet on the fringe of the alley and held the rock with a tight fist. Ahead, cloaked in light that emanated down from the lamppost, a sculptured lawn carpeted the ground surrounding the back porch of the house. Nothing physically separated Rosilyn from the yard, or her from the house, but still, she hesitated. 

Otto stood beside her, his gaze roaming through the dark alley. They had just finished their night shift at the Carbonics Plant, and the night had not ended well. Not that it ever did, but she wouldn't mind if just once work concluded with good news, or no news at all. She breathed heavily, wishing she were home, but the delay seemed fitting, considering.