The Blinding Deluge

I’ve seen it time and time again. People get frustrated and bored with the same ten or twelve ideas that spring up. Whether it’s in a TV show, on an album, in a book, or in a film, we all tend to consume what Big Money America wants us to consume — without thought, without hesitation. It reminds me a lot of the Gold Rush of 1849. One particular spot gets lucky and everyone within fifty miles jumps on the bandwagon.

Ask yourself: “Are these the only ideas out there worth my time and money? Is there more to it than what I’m having forced onto me?” It’s way too easy to fall into the mindless lethargy that has become our entertainment industry. For every clone of a hot topic out there now, there are a dozen fresh and talented creators of innovative ideas being brushed aside by the giants in the business.

Here’s where the rubber meets the road. It will take some effort and time to explore the possibilities and see what they don’t want you to see. In the end, you’ll be glad that you did, though. It’s time for all of us to wake up from the crap coma that corporate America has lulled us into and make decisions for ourselves.

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The Bus

Here’s a rare glimpse into some of my earlier poetry. The way that the current readership market is trending, why not toss it out for free, too. That’s the new norm, right?


Two roads diverged in Times Square

One with some cars,

The other — nothing there.


The streets are dark trodden

With muggers and muck.

I hear my friend scream, “hey! What the f—?”


Two roads diverged in Times Square

And it became unanimous

Among the rest of us

To pay three bucks and ride the bus.


If you have enjoyed this little artwork, then seriously consider giving other artists their reasonable share. A saturated market doesn’t imply that everyone’s work isn’t worth a dime.

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Last One Standing (the shortest story ever)

Originally posted on Flash Point Theater:

It’s either them or me.

(Call to action: All right YouTubers: Let’s see your best flash film interpretation of this story done in ten seconds or less. My only copyright requirement for its use is that you list the story on your video: “Last One Standing” by Joshua Dyer. Post your links in the comments below.)

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Being the Imperial Executioner is not a vocation that you fall into by accident. It is a fate handed to you by your ancestors. As L’Andriel’s bloodthirsty empire crumbles, I pen my final thoughts. I’ve found refuge long enough to journal this piece of our history as I saw it unfold. What type of individual is capable of delivering the death sentence to his friends, neighbors, and countrymen on a day to day basis? My name is Jugaret, and I am that sort of man.


Jugaret cover

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Here’s a link to my latest historical fiction work in production entitled Barons. I hope that you enjoy it. Let me know your thoughts. Thanks in advance.


Barons cover 1

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Finding November

Finding November cover

Being sixteen can be hell, and life at Liberty High isn’t doing Sarah Daniels any favors. Bullies, boys, an abusive mother, and now this: an old journal left to Sarah in her aunt’s will. With each passing entry, she grows closer to transforming the skeletons in her mom’s closet into proven facts. Everyone has a story. For Sarah, one boy’s journey across Great Depression America will set her free.

Now on sale in eBook and paperback!

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Seapunk — forging a new genre

This is purely an experiment in writing. The following is a short fiction piece in which I have attempted to take all things steampunk to sea. Please let me know your thoughts and impressions. No time like now to act like Victor Frankenstein.

Cat and Mouse


The Captain of the USS Endeavor fixed his blue stare on the rippling horizon. The massive ninety-foot paddlewheel of the carrier plodded a frothy course through the Atlantic’s undulations.

“He’s out there,” Captain Walker said peering through the large glass observation dome.

The ginger-haired skipper flicked the first two digits of his upturned hand.

“The spyglass.”

“Aye, sir.” One of his Junior Officers set the small brass tube in Walker’s meaty palm.

He scanned the choppy waters for any sign of his foe.

“Right paddle, half-stop,” he barked to his crew in the observation dome. “Bring her around to starboard.”

Two of Walker’s First Classes echoed his order. The taller of the two slammed the paddle lever down to the large ‘half-stop’ in red lettering, and then brought it back up to its neutral position.

“Right paddle, half-stop, sir.”

“Very well, Jones,” Walker said as he studied the seas.

“Coming around to starboard, sir,” the Quarter Master said.

Walker set down his telescope and put the receiver to his right ear.

“Lookout,” he said watching his other shipmates scurry across the foredecks of his vessel, “anything from your vantage point?”

The young Seaman rotated his large set of binoculars around on their post. “Nothing from here, sir.”

It’s not going to get any easier once the sun sets, he thought eyeing the orange and black clouds to the west. Might be time for aerial –

The Endeavor’s warning sirens cut the still of the evening air.

A cluster of white tees and dungarees amassed amidships off the port side. “Enemy sub off port!” several sailors exclaimed jabbing fingers to Walker’s eleven o’clock.

Walker flipped the switch on his console and picked up the small receiver.

“Battle stations, battle stations! All hands.” His voice rang out over every nook and cranny on the massive aircraft carrier.

“Get me a line of bearing on that fish,” he said pointing his spyglass in the direction of the sighting.

“Sir,” a Second Class said from behind her position, “I have them at 74 degrees, four minutes, two seconds at a distance of six miles.”

“Copy that,” Walker said. He turned to the short portly man to his left. “Commander?”

“Sir,” the Endeavor’s Executive Officer said.

“Get three of our birds airborne on that line!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” his short sidekick said.

Walker watched as three planes made their way out onto the flight deck. An aviation deckhand fired up the front propeller on the first bi-plane. Its narrow-spaced pairs of wings unfolded as four more handlers locked them into place. The pilot shot a thumbs-up from his cockpit to the handler in front of his plane. The jet engine on the underbelly of the fighter fired to life pushing the restraining cables to their limits. The handler stepped to port and motioned his hands down the flight deck. Each of the AC-231 Avengers bolted down the runway and darted off into the darkening skies en route toward the enemy.

“Left paddle half-stop,” he commanded. “Bring us around on their bearing.”

His able crew executed the order with precision as the observation dome slowly spun counterclockwise.  Once the bow of the vessel had reached the desired point, the Endeavor sped all ahead into the fray.

The three Avengers wove narrowing circles around the last known position of the enemy submarine.

“Any sign of them from above?” Walker asked. His inquisitive gaze rolled toward his XO.

“Nothing yet, sir,” a pilot said through broken static.

“Get me another line of –”

A bright blue bulb flashed over the copper map of the Endeavor on his console.

“Direct hit off starboard, sir,” a Lieutenant said studying the map.


The hand receiver next to the blue bulb rang into his bridge. Walker knew who was on the other side and what they wanted.

He placed the handset to his ear. “Walker here.”

“Looks like I win this round, Tim,” the voice said over the weak connection.

Walker watched as the black metal body of a giant swordfish broke the surface a quarter of a mile over his right shoulder. The boat’s clear bubbles glared back at him like a huge pair of insect’s eyes.  

“I won’t go as easy on you next time, Mike,” he said watching the sub bob on the waves.



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Just in time for Halloween

castle old cover

A small fortune, unknown until now, remains hidden on a small estate in Buckhannon, WV known by its residents as the Castle. Local legends tell of angered spirits, a curse and even a series of underground catacombs associated with the estate. Greed is a powerful drug. One that binds people to their most prized possessions all throughout life and even afterward.


The Castle’s ethereal master still stands watch over the property from the tower’s second level preying on those who would be tempted by the treasure.  Lift the curse. Go where I could not, and release the tormented spirits from their prison.

Get a free copy of my investigation today.

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The Furlough Song

So, maybe I got a little bored at work today:

Fur… I say Fu-u-uur-lough!
Take Congress’ pay, don’t let em go home.
Come Mr. Congressman, repeal the Obama.
Furlough come, and we all stay home.
It’s six days, seven days, eight days OFF!
You won’t get paid, and you can’t go home.
A difficult bunch of bright persona who can’t work togeTHA!
Furlough come, and we all stay home.
It’s six days, seven days, eight days OFF!
Furlough come, and they all stay home.
Harry Reid push it back, push it back to Boehnner.
Furlough come, and we all stay home.
I get to pee in any stall I wanNAH!
Furlough come, and they all stay home.
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