Mark Wildyr's Blog, page 18

Mark Wildyr: And Yet Again (A Requested Repost)

Mark Wildyr: And Yet Again (A Requested Repost): markwildyr.com, Post #81 Courtesy of Pixabay Before talking about this week’s offer, I'd like to suggest you listen to my  b...

And Yet Again (A Requested Repost)

markwildyr.com, Post #81
Courtesy of PixabayBefore talking about this week’s offer, I'd like to suggest you listen to my  buddy Don Travis's interview on  Radio Station KSJE in Farmington about his novel The Bisti Business. 
He also wants to give a shout out to Traci HalesVass, Professor Emerita of English and host of the program Writers on 4 Corners on KSJE 90.9 FM
 The station’s interest was sparked by one of the key settings, the Bisti-De-Na Zin Wilderness, which is located in their neck of the woods. You can hear the interview by clicking on the following link:
https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-dxfzn-a9b9ad

*****Strange things happen on occasion. This past week, two of my readers asked about a post I did back in November of 2017. At their request, I agreed to post it a second time. So here we go yet again. (Appropriate, don’t you think?)*****
AND YET AGAIN
          You open your eyes to the soft light of early morning, fearing last night was a magnificent dream and hoping it was not. You turn your head… and there he is, lying on his belly, naked torso half turned to you, eyes closed in slumber.          Good Lord! Have you bedded a minor? The smooth curve of his jaw is unblurred by the shadow of a beard. The closed lids with long sable lashes might be a girl’s. The sideburns curl a little at the end, lending belief this is but a beautiful child.          But you recall where you met him last evening… at a bar. You discerned the figure of a man beneath the cable knit sweater and dockers. And although the brown penny loafers gave him an adolescent air, his performance was that of a man… a confident, competent man.          You want to touch him but resist, reluctant to disturb his tranquil sleep. It pulls you back to your own youth full of innocence, yet fumbling your way toward the worldly, the carnal. You do not recall his name, so you dub him Bud in your mind. An equally innocent, unformed name. It seems fitting.          You shiver in the grip of a sudden fear this is but a brief, passing thing. How can you bind him to you? Make yourself important to him. To his future. Tension flows out of you as you realize you cannot. This will be what it will be. In the meantime, drink your fill of his boyish charm, his relaxed pouty lips, his delicate nose, his strong chin.          He startles you with a stretch as he turns on his back, taking the sheet down with churning legs. You fear he’s awake, but he releases a long slow breath, and then his amazingly deep chest rises and falls in a circadian rhythm. His brown nipples centered in dark aureoles stir you, but you manage to keep your hands and lips off them as you complete your inventory. Ribs lightly edged with muscle. Must be a swimmer. Torso hairless until just below a fetching navel where a thin trail of pubes—much lighter than the dark, curly mane on his head—disappear beneath the thin sheet covering his package. You are rocked by this picture of innocence packed with potential danger.          You cannot help yourself. You reach out and touch him. He rises instantly, strong and proud and throbbing. His eyes snap open. He looks blank for a moment before he turns his head to you. In an instant, he morphs from a beautiful angel into a handsome satyr as he gives a slow, sardonic smile and comes for you… yet again.
*****
When I originally posted this piece, I said that it was an unusual story… at least for me. Not necessarily the content, but from the fact that it is told in the second person and the present tense. Something that I very seldom do. From the post hits and these requests, the story seems to have struck a chord with some of the readers.
Don’t forget to listen to Don Travis’s interview on KSJE. (See the link above.)
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.

markwildyr.com, Post #81In the last post, I said I though...

markwildyr.com, Post #81


In the last post, I said I thought Patrick was losing ground because Dev only asked two things… to see it and touch it. By the time we left them, Dev was 1 for 0. But Patrick’s still putting up a strong fight. Let’s see how this ends.
*****Before talking about this week’s offer, I’d like to let readers know that Radio Station KJIS in Farmington did an interview with me about The Bisti Business. Their interest was sparked by one of the key settings, the Bisti-De-Na Zin Wilderness, which is located in their neck of the woods. You can hear the interview by clicking on the following link:
https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-dxfzn-a9b9ad

*****I thought so. Dev’s hit a home run and left Patrick gasping in the 

Mark Wildyr: Dev – Part 3 of 3 Parts

Mark Wildyr: Dev – Part 3 of 3 Parts: markwildyr.com, Post #80 Courtesy of Pixabay In the last post, I said I thought Patrick was losing ground because Dev only asked t...

Dev – Part 3 of 3 Parts

markwildyr.com, Post #80
Courtesy of PixabayIn the last post, I said I thought Patrick was losing ground because Dev only asked two things… to see it and touch it. By the time we left them, Dev was 1 for 0. But Patrick’s still putting up a strong fight. Let’s see how this ends.
*****DEV
Friday and Saturday nights did not go as planned. I got snockered—really, really snockered—with a couple of buddies at a roadhouse on the highway that winked at the law and let kids in. Sara Sue and I didn’t really have a date Friday, but she’d expected to at least hear from me, and I didn’t even think of it until I was sitting on the milking stool Saturday morning all sick and hung over. I think dad knew what ailed me, but he held his tongue. Mom was damned suspicious.As you can imagine, Saturday night was nothing to shout about. I took Sara Sue to the movies, but all I got out of it was the pleasure of spending twenty dollars on her and enduring a five-minute lecture and a three-hour frost. Shit! I’d of had more fun with Devon Hartshorn! Where the hell did that thought come from?

As soon as Dev slammed the truck door behind him Monday morning, he turned to me eagerly. “Are we going swimming today, Patrick?”Damnation! Had he spent the whole weekend thinking about my cock? “Probably.”Dev pitched in as though noonwould come around quicker if he worked harder. When we drove to the little grove sheltering the pool, he only ate half of his lunch and then sat staring at me until I gave up.“Okay, let’s go,” I said. By the time I was stripped, he was buck naked and dancing from one foot to the other in excitement.“Can I now? Can I? Please, Patrick?”“Go ahead,” I said, opening my stance and planting my fists on my hips.Timidly, he put a finger to the head of my dick. When I didn’t react, he grew bolder, placing his palm flat against me. Damned if my pecker didn’t stir a little. Then he grasped it in his fingers and fiddled for a minute. I was about to brush his hand away when he spoke.“How come the hair on your head’s yellow, but the hair down there’s kinda brown?”“That’s the way blonds are, I guess.”“Blonds. Is that what you are, Patrick?” Without waiting for an answer, he added, “It’s a nice one. I like it. I like it a lot, but I don’t know how to do it!”That stumped me. “Do what?”“Well,” he said slowly, “I just pull mine back and push it up again. You don’t have nothing to push and pull.”Realizing he was speaking of my lack of a foreskin, I brushed his hand aside. “I said you could touch it, Dev. I didn’t say you could do anything else.”“But can you do it? Can you make it spit up? You know, like when it feels so good that the stuff comes out … not pee-pee, but the white stuff.”“I know what you mean,” I answered, turning away and marching into the water before he saw I was getting hard. “And yes, it can spit up. It can spit up real good!”“I’ll bet it can. Can I see?”“No!”“Please! I don’t see how it can since you don’t have—““It can!” I snapped and sank to the gravel bottom of the brook. He splashed in and sat beside me.“Patrick, are you mad at me? Please don’t be mad at me.”“I’m… not,” I said, realizing I had a full-blown erection. Shit! I hoped he couldn’t see it through the water.Angry at myself for reacting, mad at Sara Sue for acting shitty just because I got drunk and ignored her, and frustrated at dealing with this simple, good-looking fucker, I lay back in the water. Unfortunately, I didn’t take into account its buoyancy, and my middle floated to the top. I didn’t intend for that to happen… I don’t think.“Patrick!” I heard his excited yelp. “It’s big. It’s hard and sticking up like you want to feel good. Can I make you feel good?”Without answering, I stood and followed my erection back up the embankment. Dev trailed along behind me. I sopped away the water with one of the towels I’d brought and tossed the other one to him. Dev was too excited to dry himself, he just stood in front of me, wide eyes fastened to my hard cock, his own beginning to swell impressively.We stood examining one another for a long minute, before I sprawled on the blanket we’d used for a picnic cloth. He sat beside me, pressing me flat on my back with a broad hand on my chest. I knew what would happen next but was helpless to prevent it.Dev’s work-hardened hand clasped me in a gentle grip. “Oh, Patrick! It’s beautiful!”The thought of a cock as beautiful wouldn’t scan, but it sure did feel beautiful when he ran his fist up and down it. His other hand gently cupped my balls. I closed my eyes and surrendered.Before long, he gave a snort of frustration. “I can’t do it right, Patrick, ‘cause it don’t have a skin to slide up and down. Oh, I know!”My verbal assurance that he was doing just fine died in my throat as his lips closed over me. I lost what little power of resistance that remained. I remember wondering who was taking advantage of whom before I was lost in mental blast of a bottle rockets and firecrackers and sparklers.
*****I thought so. Dev’s hit a home run and left Patrick gasping in the dust.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra: Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.

Mark Wildyr: Dev – Part 2 of 3 Parts

Mark Wildyr: Dev – Part 2 of 3 Parts: markwildyr.com, Post #79 Courtesy of Pixabay In the last post, we met Patrick and Dev, two young men fated to spend the summer w...

Dev – Part 2 of 3 Parts

markwildyr.com, Post #79
Courtesy of Pixabay
In the last post, we met Patrick and Dev, two young men fated to spend the summer working together on Patrick’s family’s farm. As a result of an automobile accident, Dev is mentally challenged, but capable of functioning. Physically, he’s a handsome young man, which wasn’t what Patrick expected. Patrick is curious because Dev’s also supposed to have been abused by his former caretaker. Let’s see how Patrick handles things from now on. We left them last after working the first day together. Now comes day two: *****DEV
 The next morning, I tossed a small kit in Dev’s lap as he got into the cab. “Here. You can keep you nails clean with these.”
“Is that for me?” he asked. “A present for me? Thank you, Patrick. Will you show me how to use it?”As we drove to work, I explained the use of each of the little instruments and got a kick out of the excited way he started digging dirt out from under his fingernails. By now I was getting a handle on Devon Hartshorn. He wasn’t an idiot or anything like that; I’m not even sure he was retarded. He was just slow, and at times it showed up more than others. Mostly he acted almost normal, although sometimes you had to baby him along. But he could take care of himself and do good work and make a halfway decent conversation. I decided I liked him.By Friday morning, we’d worked our way to a corner of the property and made a turn. A stand of trees off to our right told me the brook was close, so we piled into the truck and drove over to have our lunch. The trees overhung a spot where the stream pooled, making a sheltered area providing relief from the heat. Dev was delighted with it.A little antsy over my intention, I got up and shucked my shirt after we ate. “Come on, let’s cool off in the water.”His reaction surprised me. “Oh, no! Mr. Jones always said to wait thirty minutes after I eat before going swimming.”“It’s okay, Dev. The water’s not deep enough to swim. We’re just going to cool off.”“Oh. I guess that’s all right then. You’re awful smart, Patrick. And real pretty.”I’m sure I blushed—flushed. Girls blushed. “Boys aren’t pretty, Dev. They’re … handsome, I guess.”“Mr. Jones always said I was pretty. Pretty as a girl, he’d say.”“How’d that make you feel?” I asked, hopping around on one foot while I tugged the boot off the other.“Real good, ‘cause he meant it to be nice. And so did I, Patrick. You know, when I said you was pretty… uh, handsome.”“Shut up, Dev,” I said, removing the last bit of my clothing. “Oh, good! I get to see your thing.”“Guess you do,” I agreed, wading into the thigh-deep water and turning to face him. The stream was cold despite the day’s heat. Oh, well, that would be a good excuse when my prick wasn’t as big as he thought it ought to be.I’ll admit I examined him with some curiosity as he walked down the grassy slope with his eyes fastened on my pecker. Somehow it didn’t seem right. Flawed goods ought to look flawed, but Devon was built like a high school quarterback and was better looking than the king of the senior prom. He was also better hung than my dad’s Appaloosa stud.“Look, it’s different!” he exclaimed in amazement, pointing at my crotch. Startled, I looked down to see if it had fallen off or something, but everything looked normal except I’d stiffened up a little.“What’s different?”“Our things,” he said, grabbing his penis between two fingers. I was about to protest that the cold water had shrunk me when he skinned himself back. “I got a hood on mine, see. You don’t have one. What happened to the skin on the end of your thing, Patrick?”“I’m circumcised, Dev. Most guys are nowadays.”“Cir … cir …”“Circumcised. Cut. They cut the foreskin off.”“Cut!” he was horrified. “They cut your thing? Who did? Was it a accident?”“No, it wasn’t an accident. The doctor did it after I was born.”“How come?”“Hygiene, I guess. Supposed to be easier to keep clean.”Worry clawed at his face. “Do I have to do it?”“No. You just have to be careful to clean behind the foreskin,” I said, noticing with alarm that he was still skinning himself back and forth and growing alarmingly. “Stop that!” I demanded, abruptly sitting down in the water. He continued to stand beside me in the stream.“Can I feel it?” he asked. “I never felt a cut one before.”“No, you can’t feel it!” I responded, and then went fishing. “Wasn’t Mr. Jones cut like me?”“No. He had one like mine, except not as big as yours and mine. And he showed me how to clean up so I don’t smell bad.”“Did you touch his thing… uh, cock?”Dev nodded vigorously. “He let me touch it whenever I wanted to.”“Did he touch you?”“Sure. That’s what you do when someone touches you. You touch him back.”“Wouldn’t you rather touch a girl?”The shock on his face was genuine. “Oh, no, Patrick! Girls are good and pure, and you don’t do things like that to them.”“Who told you that? Mr. Jones?”“No. My grandmother told me you don’t do bad things to girls. They’re too pure. At least, I think it was my grandmother,” he added with a puzzled frown. “I can’t hardly remember. But I remember for sure my mom saying that, too. Before she went away.” An idea apparently occurred; a connection was made. “Did … did Mr. Jones have a accident too? Is that why he had to go away?”“No, he had to go away because people thought he was taking advantage of you.”The expression on his face alarmed me. “What do you mean?”         “Well,” I said hesitantly, “they thought he was abusing you. You know, touching your thing and… uh, you know.”It was as if Devon Hartshorn shut down. His face closed up, and he sank wordlessly into the cold water until the current pressed against his broad chest. Frankly, it scared the hell out of me. I wondered if I’d unleashed a monster or something. Finally, he spoke.“He went away because of me.”I felt like a real shit, so I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to change the subject. At last, he began to respond to my questions, and I learned Dev could read and write and do the rudiments of arithmetic, simple addition and subtraction and the multiplication tables up to the fives. He finally came out of his funk when I began teaching him the sixes. I was shrunken to nothing and was blue by the time we crawled out of the water and dressed, but at least he was acting okay again.
*****Looks to me like Patrick’s losing ground here. Let’s see how it works out in Part 3. Who are you betting on, Patrick or Dev?

Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra : Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.

Mark Wildyr: Dev – Part 1 of 3 Parts

Mark Wildyr: Dev – Part 1 of 3 Parts: markwildyr.com, Post #78 Courtesy of Pixabay Thanks for giving me a pass for my last posting. Car wrecks and internal bleeding and...

Dev – Part 1 of 3 Parts

markwildyr.com, Post #78
Courtesy of PixabayThanks for giving me a pass for my last posting. Car wrecks and internal bleeding and endoscopes and colostomies get in the way sometime.
Anyway, here’s a new story. It’s one I wrote a long time ago, but decided I wanted to update. Here’s part one of the story. Enjoy.
*****DEV
My father rolled down the Dodge pickup’s window, admitting the heat and dust as we left our quarter-section and drove across town to the old Jones place early Monday morning.“Are you looking forward to your summer, Patrick?”I brushed a blond cowlick out of my eyes and nodded. “Guess so. As much as a fellow can look forward to stretching fence. But thanks for offering to pay me.”“Only right,” he answered. Then he read my mind, like he usually did. “Up till now it was just chores, really, but this’ll keep you hopping full time till you go off to college in the fall. Got a corral and shed to build after the fencing’s done if I’m gonna run cattle on that land.”“Yeah. I’ll get it done, pop.”“I know you will. You okay with me asking the Hartshorn boy to give you a hand.”I paused before answering. Everyone talked about Devon Hartshorn, but nobody ever said anything about him, if you know what I mean. His family was new to town when some drunk plowed into their car out on Highway 55. Killed everybody except the Hartshorn boy, who was never the same afterward. The kids at school claimed he was feeble-minded or worse. The thought of working with a blithering idiot raised the hair on my neck.But that wasn’t all of it. Nobody was left to take care of the kid after the family was killed, so they put him in a public home. When he turned eighteen the man who ran the place took him to live at his house. Everybody thought that was mighty Christian of Mr. Jones until the ugly rumors started. He was abusingthe kid, people said. Abuse to me was a walloping that wasn’t earned, but the kids in the know whispered about another kind. Some guys claimed Mr. Jones was…well, screwing the kid. The outraged locals ran the man out of town, and now Devon lived alone in the old Jones house out on the west side.Dad spoke into my silence. “Devon’s a good boy despite all that’s happened to him. He’s a good worker even if he is kinda soft in the head. Do you know him, son?”“Seen him around town, but that’s all. And, yeah. I’m okay with working with him,” I said as we turned into the dirt drive beside a white clapboard, cross-gabled house.I’d never seen Devon up close and don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t what I got. A handsome, fit young man with coffee-colored hair and deep brown eyes tripped down the steps and grasped my dad's hand.“Morning, Devon,” dad said. “You know my boy, Patrick? You’re gonna be working for him this summer. You two are gonna fence part of the old Mills place for me.”“Yes sir, Mr. Holt. Hello, Patrick,” he solemnly greeted me with a firm handshake. “Did Mr. Mills say it’s okay?”“Mr. Mills is dead, Devon,” my old man explained. “I bought his land, and that’s what you and Patrick are going to fence. Understand?”“Yes sir. I’ll work good for you, Patrick.”“Uh … okay,” I said in a daze. Dad explained things to Devonlike he was a ten-year-old, but the guy was built like an adult—although he looked younger than me. And that couldn’t be; Mr. Jones got chased out of town four years ago. If the kid was eighteen then, he’d be twenty-two at least.“You sure you’re okay with this?” my father asked when Devonhopped in the truck bed and we started for the house. “He’s a good kid, Patrick,” he went on when I nodded. “You treat him decent, you hear. Everybody acts like he’s different—and he is, I guess—but they’re either condescending as hell or else they treat him like a mindless animal. I know you won’t do that.”Devon and I loaded a posthole digger, fence posts, wire, cutters, the come-along jack from the barn and headed for the job, fortified by two fat sack lunches and a big cooler of water. Neither Devon nor I said a thing on the six-mile drive to the Mills place. I was too nervous, and he apparently had nothing to contribute.I quickly learned if I carefully explained what was expected, Devonperformed perfectly. If I assumed he understand something, it led to disaster. When we broke for lunch, I tried to initiate a conversation.“You're a good worker,” I started and immediately realized that condescension thing had reared its ugly head.“Thanks, Patrick. Mr. Jones said that was what everybody expects out of a fellow.”The casual mention of his abuser threw me off stride. “I'm surprised you even mention that son-of-a-bitch’s name. Uh … him treating you that way and all.”His reaction was astounding. “Don’t go saying bad things about Mr. Jones! He was good to me. Till he up and left me all by myself. Why did he do that? I thought he liked me. Said he loved me. What does love mean?” Devonasked throwing me a curve.Stunned, I looked at the incredibly handsome boy…man…sitting beside me on the Dodge’s tailgate, chewing his sandwich placidly. “Uh, that’s when you like somebody really well.”“Oh, then I guess I love you, Patrick.”“No, no!” I sputtered. “I mean like when a man and a woman want to get married. Or how a fellow feels about his father or mother.”He frowned in concentration. “Can a man love a man?”“Sure. Like brothers, you know. Otherwise, they’re just buddies.”“Buddies. Is that what we are, Patrick? I had a buddy once,” he went on in his childlike way. “Mr. Jones was my buddy. He loved me.” The frown came again. “But he went away.”“You don’t know why he went away? Be damned, you don’t have any idea, do you?” I muttered when those big, liquid, clueless eyes turned on me. “How could you like a man like Jones?”“He’s a good man,” Devon said seriously. “He treated me real good. Took care of me when nobody else wanted me.”That made sense—put up with the abuse in payment for the care. My curiosity got the better of me. “Didn’t you resent what he … did to you?”“He didn’t do nothing to me,” came the sincere reply, making me wonder if a great injustice had been done in the heat of the chase.“He didn’t … do things to you? You know, personal things.”A confused frown revealed Devon’s lack of comprehension. “He did good things to me.”I backed off. “Well, if it’ll make you feel any better, he didn’t want to leave you. He got … uh, he had to leave, and they wouldn’t let him take you with him.”“I know. That’s what he told me. Said he couldn’t even write to me.”“Great,” I muttered, crawling to my feet.As I delivered Devon home after work and paid him for the day like my dad had instructed me, he promised to be ready bright and early the next morning. We were both filthy from the day’s work, and I wondered if he’d have enough sense to clean his clothes.I had time to clean up before mom put supper on the table, but decided I was too tired to go into town and find my girl, Sara Sue Crowley. I settled for talking to her on the telephone for fifteen minutes instead.
*****Sounds like Patrick’s handling everything okay. Or does it? Tune in next time to find out a little more.
Amazon permits you to read a short passage of my novels, Cut Hand and Johnny Two-Guns. I also believe the STARbooks-published River Otter, Echoes of the Flute, and Medicine Hair are still up. I sure would like to get the final book in the Cut Hand Series, Wastelakapi… Beloved, published, but it’ll take some help from readers to get Dreamspinner interested.
My contact information is provided below in case anyone wants to drop me a line:Website and blog: markwildyr.comEmail: markwildyr@aol.comFacebook: www.facebook.com/mark.wildyrTwitter: @markwildyr
The following are buy links for CUT HAND:
DSP Publications: https://www.dsppublications.com/books/cut-hand-by-mark-wildyr-420-bAmazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cut-Hand-Mark-Wildyr-ebook/dp/B073D86RWViBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/book/cut-hand/id1256084273Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/cut-hand-2
And now my mantra (yes, it’s mine, even if I borrowed it from Don Travis): Keep on reading. Keep on writing. You have something to say, so say it!
Until next time.
Mark
New posts at 6:00 a.m. on the first and third Thursdays of each month.

Mark Wildyr: Mark Wildyr: Bad Luck, Good Luck, or Disaster? (P...

Mark Wildyr: Mark Wildyr: Bad Luck, Good Luck, or Disaster? (P...: Mark Wildyr: Bad Luck, Good Luck, or Disaster? (Part 2 of 2 Pa... : markwildyr.com, Post #76 Courtesy of Pixabay Last week, we saw ...