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The Summoning



Sometimes I struggle as a woman writer in the Horror genre. I feel as a woman, people have different expectations of my characters and my writing. People have said my narrative voice is very “cold and masculine” and find it odd that I don’t write like a woman. I’m not exactly sure what that’s supposed to mean. All I can do is stay true to my writing and my voice.


I want to embrace the idea of being a female horror writer. I want to find power and strength in this. I want to turn the clichés and the tropes we still see in Horror on their heads and write about characters of all races, genders and sexual orientations. I want to tell new and interesting stories. This may put some people off. Well, good riddance to them.

Since joining Instagram to promote my blog, I’ve been getting a lot of questions about my face. People want to know why I wear a mask and why I won’t show them my face. The short answer is this:

My face is mine. My sexuality is mine. I don’t care if you find me attractive or unattractive; attractiveness is not the point of my work. I don’t wish to be sexualized. I want to scare, I want to intrigue and I want to create dark images that speak to my writing.


Now, there are many women out there who show their faces and pose nude on social media. I have much respect for what these women are doing and how they’re claiming their bodies and their sexuality by putting it out there. I respect their bodies and their sexuality and I’m happy they can feel beautiful and empowered by the images they share of themselves. I follow many women who do this and enjoy seeing the powerful images they post. I however, feel empowered by keeping my sexuality and my face hidden.

If I were a man, no one would be asking me to take off my mask so they can see my pretty face…

I hope my readers can continue to respect my mystery, and my writing.

This weeks Quick Fix Horror is a continuation of last weeks, with new characters in the mix. I hope you enjoy it.

With Screams and Axes,





Mason stared at the brown paper bag on the kitchen counter which was leaking a pinkish fluid all over the marble, even though he had asked the butcher to double wrap it. The summoning spell had been vague about its requirements, but “fresh heart” had been on the list. Mason hadn’t been sure if this meant a human heart, or if any animal heart would be accepted. He was going to start his attempt with a cow heart and see if that took. He had spent months contacting professors in Rome, Berlin and Egypt who specialized in Ancient Theological texts, pleading for their help. He had read countless books on old gods and goddess, and had read the Bible, the Quran and the Torah multiple times looking for some speck of information on what he was after. After all his research and reading he had compiled a short stack of papers that easily fit into a slim manila folder, a compilation of all known history and instruction on summoning the demon. A demon whose name he didn’t know, that could only be summoned in a manner which wasn’t totally clear, to take revenge on the man who had destroyed Mason’s family.

He opened up the bag and looked down at the cow heart, big, red and slick. His stomach turned as he thought about how later he would be cutting this heart into tiny bits and consuming it raw as a show of worthiness to his demon.

“I’ve lost my mind,” he said aloud. He knew it was the truth. Because one had to be mad to do such a thing as he was planning on doing this evening.

Published inHorror

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