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Port Dalhousie Home (Sotheby’s)

 

 

Rising prominently into the sky, the Queen Anne-inspired home rests peacefully atop a hillside waterfront overlooking majestic Lake Ontario. The lake view is awe-inspiring, a beautiful and serene landscape that provides a tranquility commonly associated with the picturesque community of Port Dalhousie. With the slow, lapping of water against the rocks below, it’s nearly impossible not to be emotionally swept away by the delicacy of the visuals.

A step inside the home, with its high ceilings and wide and commodious rooms, is a grandiose experience.  There is a seductiveness that envelops one as they enter in through the Victorian-Inspired double front doors. It’s intoxicating in that it stirs up a curiosity to want to delve further into seeking out and discovering more of what the house has to offer. Covering well over 10,000 square feet in finished living space, the entire house is ample and vast. Ripe with opulent texture, the house offers a little bit of everything.

Built in 1998, and renovated in 2009, the home is a feast for the eyes. Limestone and Cherry Hardwood flooring, a library with floor to ceiling mahogany bookcases and cabinetry, authentic plaster mouldings throughout the entirety of the house, and breathtaking scenic views of Lake Ontario from multiple vantage points (such as the Conservatory behind the house that overlooks the Great Lake) are just a few of the features that help highlight the magnitude and richness of the home.

Yet the house never feels overwhelming in its presentation or style. Though consisting of numerous rooms, spiral staircases and a myriad of windows, the house is welcoming. There is a distinct personality present, a definitive identity empowering it that provides a feeling of warm sanctuary.

Situated directly beside the home is the Coach House, an exquisite structure that truly compliments its neighbour. Built in 2005, the Victorian-designed dwelling is a wondrous sight to behold. With floor to ceiling custom windows in the living room, vaulted ceilings and stunning wooden arches, the Coach House proudly celebrates its sumptuous appeal.

It is a finely-detailed home with dazzling, dream-like expressiveness throughout its composition. With marvellous views of the lake, complimented by a pool and a concrete-pillared Open Air Structure in the rear grounds, the house’s attention to detail is astonishing. The use of colour, texture and design is a work of art, a picturesque fantasy come to life.

As was the case with the Queen-Anne home, the Coach House is very individualistic in its personality. Venturing from room to room, the patterns and styles are distinct, and revel in their ability to articulate something robust and bold. Like a fine wine, the house is daring and captivating.

Both homes embody personal, unmistakable spirits in their physical formations, and proudly display it in the heart of their Port Dalhousie neighbourhood.

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Fiction, Reading, Slider 3,

A Scratch and a Hiss

The scratching noise is first detected by Edgar at 8:17 P.M.

He knows this because the scratching noise comes from behind the kitchen wall clock, and he is forced to remove it for investigation purposes.

Silence greets him as he does.

Perplexed, Edgar runs his hands through his frazzled hair.

There was something behind that wall.

Probably a rat or something.

He returns the clock to its original positioning.

Edgar turns away and walks to the entranceway leading to the living room.

A low scratching noise emanates from behind him , and Edgar turns abruptly to discern its whereabouts.

Remaining still, and breathing as slow as possible, Edgar listens intently .

The noise is coming from behind the clock again.

Walking gently, Edgar returns to the wall clock, removes it, and presses his ear up against the wall.

The sound is low but very distinct.

Edgar curls his hand into a fist and bashes the wall with the side of it.

To be safe, he does it three more times.

Remaining quiet, he returns his ear to the wall.

A low hissing sound arises from the other side, and then the scratching resumes.

With anger arising within him, he begins to hammer the wall repeatedly with aggressive force.

But with every pound, the scratching increases in intensity.

There are wires behind there and you’re going to chew through them, aren’t you, you little prick, Edgar thinks to himself.

Edgar turns to walk away, and a loud antagonistic hiss bids him farewell.

Furious now, Edgar walks to the kitchen door leading to the garage.

Opening it, he goes outside to retrieve his sledgehammer.

Once back in the house, he walks with a sense of purpose to the spot of the sound, and without hesitation begins to bash through it with heated aggression.

After four or five forceful smashes, the wall breaks free leaving a giant hole.

Edgar shoves his head through it but encounters no living entity.

Confused, he returns his entire body to the kitchen.

Staring at it, he begins to think that he may have been a tad overzealous with his violent actions.

Now how much was this going to cost him to fix?

In deep contemplation, he detects another scratching sound…this time coming from the living room.

Walking steadily, he walks into the living room, passing the turned over family pictures on the cabinet, and stops dead in the middle of the room…listening.

The sounds arises from the ceiling directly above him.

Dropping the sledgehammer to the ground, he turns and walks back towards the door leading to the garage.

Once inside, he grabs a step ladder and returns to the middle of the living room.

Propping it up, he picks up the sledgehammer and quietly ascends the ladder steps.

He detects a snickering sound from the other side of the ceiling, and without any thought to the consequences, he begins to drive the weapon upwards with destructive force.

After four or five blows, and with plaster raining down from above, a large jagged hole emerges.

Cautiously sticking his head through it, Edgar begins to look around once inside.

Nothing is visible.

Removing his cell phone, he flips on the flashlight app and shines it around the darkened enclosure.

Nothing.

Breathing heavily, Edgar descends the ladder stairs.

There is plaster all over the newly chipped hard wood floors.

You’re not escaping me, thinks Edgar.

A low laughing sound is heard from the garage.

Now I got you.

Walking past the overturned family portraits with the sledgehammer still in hand, Edgar makes his way out into the garage.

Stopping suddenly, he hears the snickering arising from inside his SUV.

He tries the door handle…

Locked.

The keys were upstairs in the bedroom…the one he once shared.

Not wanting to waste any time, Edgar raises the sledgehammer above his head and begins to smash through the SUV’s windshield.

Pounding it with such aggressive force provides very little hope for the life of the glass.

Within seconds, it caves away. Thrusting his head through it, he scans the interior of the car.

Nothing.

Pulling his head upwards, he listens to the sounds of the garage.

With his heart beating fast and his blood pressure now raised to dangerous levels, Edgar has grown frustrated.

Why can’t I find this stupid rat?

A scratching sound arises from within the kitchen.

Gritting his teeth, he walks back into the room with his sledgehammer ready for attack.

The sound comes from the behind the stove.

Smiling, he returns to the garage to retrieve his hacksaw.

Upon his re-entrance to the kitchen, he walks to the stove, grabs the back of it with both hands and pulls it a few feet out from the wall. Locating the gas line located at the back of it, he readies his weapon.

Using the hacksaw, he punctures it.

Continuing to smile, he walks back into the garage and grabs a jerry can full of gasoline sitting in the corner.

He also picks up a book of matches from the shelf.

Returning to the punctured gas line, Edgar turns the can over and begins to pour gasoline onto it. Walking backwards, he exits the kitchen leaving a leaking gasoline trail before him. Making his way through the living room and out the front door, the trail lies splattered on the floor.

At about fifteen feet from the front of the house, he drops the can, strikes the match and drops it onto the trail leading into the house.

He turns and runs to the street located thirty feet from his front door.

It doesn’t take long.

As he turns his body back towards the house, he spares himself just enough time to witness the destruction.

The once darkened sky is now a ball of orange, red and yellow.

The flames rise and rise, and the house begins to crumble.

The smile clings to Edgar’s face.

He raises both arms up towards the coloured sky, knowing he has finally claimed victory.

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Blog, Slider 3,

Darkness Descending

The second of my two stories due for release this summer. A story about vengeance, regret and manipulation.

 

An Excerpt:

 

It’s more than just sex with her. The sweaty, emotionally-fuelled act of love making is euphoric in a way I never thought possible with another human being.

The look in her eyes pierces through my emotional core with unrepentant relentlessness.

I simply cannot explain it.

On top of her, I can’t help but lose myself in her gaze. Like quicksand, I sink deeper and deeper as her stare reaches, grasps and eventually paralyzes me.

I stare down upon her, smiling, overcome by an indescribable, overwhelming emotional connection.

I’m lost in a world I’ve never journeyed to before.

She stares up at me, smiling, lost in the carnal embrace of two wandering souls finally content in knowing they have found one another.

It was shame that we were both married to other people…

 

COMING SUMMER 2017

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Blog, Slider 3,

The Desolate Journey

Attacked and left for dead in the desert by an unknown entity, a man awakens to find himself in an enigmatic new world brimming with unholy chaos.

Where every imaginable evil can and does exist, this desolate wilderness relishes in the destruction of humanity.

With little understanding, the man is forced to flee for his life as hundreds of anonymous assassins stalk him through this vast land.

With no one to trust, the man must rely on the little resources he possesses, and to come to some sort of understanding about many unknown questions.

Why is this happening to him?

Where and what is this place?

And who is in control of it?

The answers lie within The Alternative Wasteland…

 

NOW AVAILABLE

 

Amazon

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Fiction, Reading,

My Mind Alone

The mind: Sometimes the greatest enemy one can encounter in life.

I stare absently at my laptop computer screen. My writing program sits open, and yet I continue to study the blank screen. Blink after blink, the cursor taunts me, Write something important. Dazzle me with your artistic expertise.

It mocks me.

It’s 9:00am, and I’ve been sitting at my writing desk for nearly two hours.

The words I seek elude me, and I find myself distracted by my thoughts of her.

Natalie.

It’s been four days since Natalie left me via text message, and I’ve been unable to prevent myself from rereading the text every few minutes.

 

Mike,

There’s no easy way to write this, but I’m going to try to anyways.

I can’t be with you anymore. I’m sorry but it’s over!!

 

Her words had attacked me like a stranger in the night.

Lurking with malicious intent, Natalie’s premeditated act of violence upon my soul was catastrophic.

Her succinct and lack of explanation as to why it was over had destroyed me.

It had destroyed my world.

 

I just don’t understand.

My friends have told me to move on.

That she isn’t right for me.

That she treats me terribly.

That it’s her issues, not mine that ultimately deconstructed our partnership.

I refuse to believe their lies…

 

I remove myself from the desk and walk to the couch where I fall face first atop the cushioned seats.

If I go to sleep, the voices in my head haunting me may dissipate for a few hours.

My eyes close and I drift away from reality.

 

Upon waking at 11:11am, my mind immediately retreats back to Natalie.

I pick up my iPhone, and scroll through every one of our messages.

Yet again.

I can’t help it.

As if attempting to decrypt some sort of secret meaning from it, I analyze each and every word in my head over and over until I border on insanity.

This is how my mind works. I’m an over thinker with a penchant of analysing every single moment of an event.

I tend to drive myself crazy, at times.

Analyze it from this perspective and then analyze it from that perspective, and so on… and so on.

I know I wasn’t the best boyfriend but did I really deserve this?

I grit my teeth.

My mind begins to drift…

 

As a professional writer, I have a set schedule I live by.

I tend to write from 7am until 3pm, Monday to Friday.

This schedule has allowed me to publish four novels so far, and I was currently working on a fifth.

But there would be no writing today.

Though my thoughts weren’t getting me anywhere, I couldn’t prevent my mind from dwelling on every single aspect of the relationship between Natalie and myself.

Good or bad, I would continue to rehash the same moment over and over again without any solid discernment.

All of the regrets, all of the moments where I should’ve done or said (or not done or said) something but didn’t (or did) were flooding back to me.

What I could’ve done better.

And the big one…how this entire breakup was my fault.

I was driving myself mad.

And I had to do something to get my mind off of her.

 

I had attempted to see her one last time.

I had confronted her outside of her apartment, but she refused to speak to me. She simply brushed me aside and walked away from me.

I had wanted to follow her…

 

Following the implosion of our relationship, I had removed myself from society.

I left my apartment in the big city and relocated to a cabin I had rented (without having to use a credit card, which was a nice perk) up north.

It was March, so it wasn’t too difficult to track down a decent dwelling.

I had been here for the past three days.

Isolated, the cabin was situated in a dense forest containing monstrous pine trees that yearned to scrape the heavens above.

The front of the cottage contained a small yard and a stone driveway situated off to the right side of it. The rear of it backed onto Hemingway Lake, a small body of water defined by its rich blueness.

It was the only man-made structure located on the shores of the lake.

For the past three days, I hadn’t encountered another living soul out here.

It’s as if I was the last human being on earth, and I liked that…

 

THE REST OF THE STORY CAN BE FOUND HERE;

 

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Film,

Stranger (Complete Film)

‘Stranger’ is the short film based on my recently published short story entitled ‘A Stranger Among Us’.

 

In June 2015, ‘Stranger’ had its World Premiere Screening at the Niagara Integrated Film Festival

 

Synopsis:

A stranger observes the home of David and Janine from across the street. Bathed in darkness, the man makes no movements. He simply watches.

Beset by a dark secret long kept dormant, David and Janine’s seemingly happy marriage will be tested by this stranger.

But by confronting their past, this enigmatic watcher may be the least of their concerns.