The Women of horror.


Yes, we know the actresses, Jamie Lee Curtis, Kate Beckinsale, Adrienne Baribeau, Barabara Steele, and even Elvira (Mistresses of the dark). But what of it?

The darkness that hides behind films center on sexuality, and yes, these and other women exude oodles of it. We all watch as the evil being, or persons attack our heroine, but usually, our lady is tough and fights or outsmarts the evil.

As a male, I felt entranced by these strong women, I liked that they fought their way out of creeps, misogynist cretins and just supernatural forces way beyond their everyday experiences. The women are not evil, they’re innocent people thrown into a nightmare, usually not of their own making.

The sticking point is what if the character was frumpy, homely, ugly? Did it matter to the viewer that the hero was average or less in appearance? Did the story matter or the actor? It always bothered me, that even to my own eyes, the fairer looking the female hero, the greater I cared about her and involved in the film. In fact, only in a rare film, like The Shining to surpass my own biases on female beauty. The film’s attraction made me care less what Shelley beauty; she’s fighting for her life with her child as her husband went mad. The story won out.

Unfortunately, I understand that attractive looks collect eyeballs and numbers count, no mistake, I know putting myself on the line deeply involves my looks and clothing now as a female instead of a male horror writer. To be frank, it’s not my favorite part, but I willfully accept it and understand the importance of an image to sales. I also know Anne Rice and Shirley Jackson didn’t wear skin-tight dresses and leather lingerie to boost sales. Of course, I lack their level of expertise in writing. That is entertainment and as a seller of it must seek my window to escape into the world of writing.

Moreover, there is the deeper aspect the sexy woman plays in horror, she is taboo, dealing with sexuality, openly, gives her an edge, she is a renegade, she doesn’t stand with social norms boxing her in, she utilizes her gifts, to sneak through the closed doors and windows to freedom; I realize that as a transgender woman, society puts holds me back, ignored or not taken seriously. To survive I must maximize my gifts to work around the negatives. The windows are few and the road is long. Thus my focus and my hunger remain.


sex in horror.

I sit in the night and wonder who my readers are? Do they seek comfort or just curious? I suspect they know about my writings, my books, my plans.

Horror is a bleak business, I think of nightmares and try to import them to you.Whether or not I am successful is up to the readers. My skills as an author are yours to judge, and yet I am exposed to every word, as much as I am with every photo I showcase.

Sex isn’t just an act it’s an event of emotions, a beginning, middle and an end. Much like writing is, a story, and whether the story ends on a happy note, or a bleak end, it’s still a tale.

So be my tale.


Watch a little badly edited video of mine:P


The Life Plan.

Oh the other side…

I guess some folks didn’t like my self-expression on Quora, well, no matter, I have more freedoms here.

I have to comment on the aspects of my life, well on a personal nature, such as the lack of dating. Guys find it hard to accept any attraction towards me, which is funny and sad. The issue with me is if you like what you see, what does it matter what’s under my skirt?

yes, I am creepy, and no I’m not evil, but I am still friendly and I like to think a humane person, so carry on people.

a parting shot at my detractors.


The impending doom.

I get this way before I do anything of value, from releasing a new book to getting a medical checkup. Fear has a way of warping my mind. One would think I would learn how to handle this better but I never do.

The fact remains, from feeling spooked at night to mysterious ailments, my mind is my greatest weapon and friend.

I must learn to harness its awesome powers and leave me smiling more than i do.

The new year is upon me and time to list some goals:

  1. publish two books. yep, one is a short little number where I edited a lot of my Quora answers and a few new ones and put out my favorites. The other is the third collection of my short stories.
  2. Get with the health. I am doing some checkups and testing to make sure everything is working right.
  3. a new look. My black phase may be over, what comes next? I’m taking advice…
  4. making some personal changes (keep reading to see).

Wishing you all a great 2018!


I hope whatever is your faith,beliefs, or thoughts, that you take time out and be thankful you have someone around you who cares. Even if it’s just you and your cat.

You do matter, everyone does, so never forget that,you just don’t know how.


My best and my love:)



Who do you really think I am?

Yes, I am a 46 yr old individual, working on transitioning physically to a female, but do you really want to see how I would look, as an average day?

Low on the makeup, my aged skin (thank you Arizona sun) and male hormones effects? I can’t really escape time and hormones, no matter how much photo editing, makeup and lighting. Let’s take a look:

Yep, not so pretty.

Okay,now with some shadows and distance:

Throw in a body shot, or two:

and of course some pictures look better than I really look:

Okay,enough of the photo shoot. My point is I don’t look like some 15 yr old model, the best I can be is me, I don’t know how much of my face could change,surgery can help, but the real question is why do I focus so much on looking pretty,or passable: why does it matter so much to me?

I haven’t officially lived a day as a “woman”, in the legal or documented way yet,but I am as affected by the image conscious woman role, and it bugs me. As a male, how pretty one is, rarely is even a focal point for most guys,but my value and esteem is going to be rated on my facial and body features.

It’s a scary concept, maybe the scariest fact I have to accept and come to grips with. Maybe I’m just really shallow,(more than most?), but it is depressing and a hard pill to swallow.

Why I write.

I find it humorous for me to say they want to be a writer, considering how much I labored in English and literature throughout my educational years; it is peculiar for me to want to be a writer.



School to me implied Math, Science, History; and my dreaded English classes were a reminder of how truly bored I could be in school and that class was my stressful class of the day. I would have sweaty palms as my teacher would choose someone to the chalkboard and break down a sentence by structure; it is amazing that for all those years I escaped being called up to the board.

My love of reading, a skill infused into me by my father and his gigantic library, which exposed me to a variety of subjects ranging from science, engineering, history, mathematics and even peculiar subjects like witchcraft, ghosts, and just creepy tales, and urban legends. I will admit a lack of knowledge of classic literature (we had Reader’s Digest condensed books in hordes). Perhaps it was a failing in my education, but one I could’ve remedied by reading them in my spare time.

Interestingly, I always focused on self-help, educational books, and reference books. Perhaps I didn’t like stories; I wanted facts, easy and simple to understand, a lack of patience on my part.

This could be the result of a lack of social awareness, a nerdy kid focused on the quantifiable and not subjective topics or interests.

My love of novels was no match for my love films and stories, but I hated the process of reading to escape, perhaps it was too long for my brain to focus. The only item that grabbed my attention was horror-filled tales. Ghosts, goblins, and evil beings; my love of fear and terror. The dark side.

My love of Vincent Price films, zombie films, and just creepy tales knew no bounds. To be honest, I could visualize myself living as a witch woman in an ancient Victorian house, dressed in seasonal black, scaring the neighbors. I would have a giant collection of horror classics and actual supernatural collections of ancient grimoires and creepy items in my study. Yes, I love a gothic look, with a black cat on my lap.

Nevertheless, I still loved books, and I found myself writing stories; my favorites, my little creepy tales. Perhaps my fame will be a limited fame, a quiet blip on the radar screen, but I don’t write for wealth or fame. I just want one item.

To write the perfect story, the one that will scare the hell out of all readers, is my real dream, the one that eludes me so far.

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