Words Are Powerful

The written word is the most powerful tool, and weapon, known to man…

Can you imagine a world without the written word? I can’t. Unlike the spoken word, which can quickly fade away, even with today’s technology, the written word has unlimited reach and staying power. The written word can move you to action or emotion. Laws are written, History is written, recipes are written, religious books are written, fantastic tales are written. While each has a very different style and purpose, each moves us in a very different way.

I am a writer by trade and passion, but I am also an avid reader. I have read literally hundreds of books of all types and genre’s, yet I’m am still moved to tear, or laughter, or fear when reading a well written story. When the story was written has no bearing on this. A new action adventure or an old mystery, the power of the written word knows no boundary.

As a reader we should not have boundary’s either. While we all have our favorite genre and writers, we should allow ourselves to explore. Maybe pick one book a month outside your normal list and give it a try. Who knows, maybe you’ll find a new favorite, or even possibly learn something(shocking I know). At the very least you will have broadened your mental horizon for short while.

Happy reading.

PS: This will probably be my last post on wordpress.com. I am merging this with my wordpress.org site sometime this week. If all goes as planned I will bring all my current followers with me. If you get lost please accept my apologies. Here is the link to the new site ~ http://www.richardstephens.me/

Rusty Nails (Cat Detective)

Author’s Note: While I don’t condone giving alcohol to cats, the occasional sniff of catnip is considered quite acceptable.

Somewhere through the haze, I heard her heels clack across the tile floor. The outer door opened and closed. Suddenly, blinding light flooded the room. I squinted at her through eyes as mucky as a Maine mud season. Arms crossed Cookie O’Brian, our leggy redheaded secretary, scanned the room. Her eyes stopped on me.

“Have you been letting Rusty Nails drink again?” I’m an orange tabby named after Murph’s medication of choice, which I suppose is better than a Fuzzy Navel.

Patrick ‘Murph’ Murphy lifted his head from his desk; a yellow sticky note with a phone number was stuck to his temple.

Shielding his eyes from the light, he said, “You know I hate to drink alone.”

“Just because you want to drown your life in booze is no reason to drag your cat down with you.”

Women, always on you about something, I growled. Leaving the light on, she turned and went to her desk. I rolled over and covered my eyes with a paw, knocking an empty Styrofoam cup on the floor.

Notice:

No animals were harmed during the writing of this book

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Delusions of Grandeur

Warily, the heavyweight prizefighter limps slowly through the shards of broken shadows, those cast softly upon his alley from the dirty street lamps beyond his privileged domain

Shrouded by hair as black as the moonless night, he patiently moves with a lifetime of practice, doggedly stocking his near silent and illusive prey – solely to fulfill his primal needs

Like body armor, his thick scabby feline coat bears the scars of a soldier of fortune, hiding the lean muscular body of the warrior within

Anticipating the unexpected in each step his dark piercing eyes scan the arena with relentless resolve, searching out the slightest breath of movement

Lifting his perceptive nose to the sky he sniffs the still night air

Suddenly! His sharp eye catches the nearly imperceptible movement of an unfortunate victim and with lightning speed darts from the gloom of the filthy dumpster

Through a paper-thin crack in the broken brick wall he follows his agile quarry as it leads him to its point of final stand

With ice water running through his veins, he attacks his prey with abandoned fury impeding its every attempt to escape with a slash of his razor sharp claws

With a final cry of defeat, his victim ultimately succumbs to his attacker’s advance and exhales its final last breath

Cautiously guarding against the ever-present interloper, he eagerly devours his prize, satiating his voracious hunger, at least temporarily

With his conquest complete, he carefully preens himself. Licking the remaining scraps of triumph from his powerful paws, he savors the spoils of victory

Displaying delusions of grandeur, he perches atop the gritty green dumpster as if though it were his throne and watches suspiciously over his realm

His alley! His kingdom!

As the lone sentry of this imposing kingdom, he guards against all intruders. Because in this harsh shadowy battle for life, the majestic alley cat cannot afford the luxury of friends