Friday, September 30, 2016



If I had known it was going to be so hard,
 Involving computer skills to the extreme,
 I might have thought twice about it,
 Thought twice about writing my book.
 Writers must write each and every day.
 We must promote our books daily.
 We must post on our blogs each day.
 But there’s not enough hours in a day.
 How do other writers accomplish all this?
 How do they leave free time for their families?
 They must be expert jugglers.
 Experts at writing, blogging, and juggling.
 I must learn this dance.
 This high-wire walk.
 This never-ending battle.
 I must learn to juggle.
 I will do it.
 I will do it all.
 Just give me the chance.
 Book two is waiting to be written.
 I feel free.
 I feel empowered.
 I will survive.
 James Patterson, eat my dust.



What I Cherish The Most

 What I cherish the most isn’t a ‘what’ but a ‘who;’ the person who I had looked up to and then had lost too early in life. This was my brother, Neil Leist.

 Neil was the type of person who lit up a room when he entered it. He was 6’2”, but it wasn’t his height that drew others’ eyes. It was his dynamic personality and his intelligence. Those grey eyes mirrored his great intellect and capacity for greatness. He acted as my father when my father wasn’t home but working long days and nights driving a taxi. He took care of my blind mother until I was old enough to help out. He sheltered me as much as he could from life and responsibilities. He shouldered these burdens himself.

 He did well in college but he flourished in the business world. He traded on the Commodity Exchange until he had enough money to take over a Fortune 500 company. With a majority share in its stock, he took over American Bakeries. Taystee Bread was never going to be the same. He took me along on his ride to stardom. I worked for him on the Exchange and in his offices on Madison Avenue, New York. I majored in Finance at New York University, preparing to join him. All was going well for once in my life and in my brother’s life. My parents were proud. He helped them out. All was perfect until that awful phone call in the middle of the night.

 My lights went out. All the light in the world was gone for me. I was stuck in darkness as dark and deep as the one my mother lived in. My brother had been in a car accident in the Hamptons. His fancy, red Porsche had hydroplaned on the wet roads. Neil was a great driver with quick reflexes. He drove the car off the road and onto the grass. Luck wasn’t with him. A truck was parked in his path and the Porsche crashed beneath it.

 Neil was in a coma for two years before he passed away. Meanwhile, his so-called friends at American Bakeries were undermining his position at the company causing the stock price to drastically plummet. We had to sell off his investment in one big chunk at a big loss. Most of his money was tied up with this company. It took me eight years to settle his estate.

 I got an M.B.A. in Finance but high finance soon lost its appeal to me. I worked at different investment companies. Then I made the big decision to become a full-time mom for my two beautiful daughters. I devoted myself to them. I took on part-time jobs in the financial field, but I was always available if they needed me.

 The big 50 was approaching and I was beginning to feel that I had lost out on life. My brother and then both my parents had passed away. My daughters were beginning their own lives. I needed a focus, a reason for my life. My book, The Dead Game, took me ten years to write.

 My life had taken many unexpected twists and turns. Memories of my brother followed me across every speed bump; thoughts of what Neil would have done in each situation kept me company. I don’t have my brother any longer but I have his memories. I also have a cherished picture of him standing alongside Mayor Ed Koch when they had met to discuss the possibility of moving the American Bakeries’ factory to New York City. It’s proudly displayed in my house and now for everyone on my blog to see.


An open door invites.<br /> An open door beckons to visitors.<br /> Who can resist an open door?<br /> Who doesn’t want to take a peek inside?<br /> What treasures might be hidden on the other side?<br /> Or what evil might be lying in wait for us?<br /> Open the door and find out.<br /> I know you want to.

An open door invites.
 An open door beckons.
 Who can resist it?
 Who doesn’t want to take a peek?
 What treasures might be hidden on the other side?
 Or what evil might be lying in wait for us?
 Open the door and find out.
 I know you want to.


A ghost of me

Some days I feel strong and empowered,
 Ready to face the challenges
 Life throws at me.
 Other days I feel invisible,
 A transparent copy of myself,
 Feeling life fade away.
 How do I remain strong?
 My transparent self
 Needs to be reminded
 Of all the people
 Who rely on it;
 Of all the people
 Who love and need it.
 It is flickering.
 It is becoming solid.
 It is becoming strong once again.


black rose


Beautiful rose.
 Soft and velvety.
 Protected by sharp thorns.
 Bright in the sunshine.
 Dark in the moonlight.
 A two-faced wonder.



There is something painfully wrong about the seemingly perfect town of Oasis
The opening pages of "The Dead Game" grab you at the ankles and drag into the deeper story. There is something painfully wrong about the seemingly perfect town of Oasis. Without getting into spoilers, here's my take. Leist's cast of characters are interesting in and of themselves. They do leave you wanting to get to know them better; yet, as in real life you only get to see the sides and masks that others want you to see. That, to me, was the author's point. Everyone in Oasis seems to have an agenda, and it's hard to know what to believe. With that in mind, Leist does a great job of bringing to life the picturesque town of Oasis, and the menacing End House. The book is reminiscent of tales like "House on Haunted Hill," yet with its own twists on the supernatural thriller. The story is well-paced and the dangers faced by Leist's characters feels terrifyingly real. All in all, a good read. I look forward to reading more works from this author.



"I sit alone by the table.
I hear voices around me.
Sounds of movement.
Sounds of life.

I reach out.
I can feel the smoothness.
A plate.
A meal.

Smells waft by my nose.
Aromas of chicken.
Sweet smells of  pudding.
Smells of life.

What color is the food?
Is the sun shining in?
Are the faces around me young or old?
So many questions.

Questions I can't answer.
I can never answer.
For I am blind,
Have been blind for years."

The anguish my mother had faced
For most of her life.
Her sight stolen from her
At a young age.

The last part of her life
was spent in a nursing home,
suffering from dementia.
Life can be cruel.

Loss of sight.

Loss of colors.
Loss of faces.
Loss of memories.




Show me your face.
Reveal your true colors.
Take off your mask.
What lies underneath?

Without your arrogant facade.
Your roguish manner.
Your flirty ways.
What lies underneath?

Walk to me.
As yourself.
Without lies.
So I can see what lies underneath.

Let the mask fall to the ground.
Let it break.
Shatter to pieces.
I can now see what lies underneath.

Thursday, September 29, 2016


A forest of our dreams.
In our nightmares.
I’m going in.


Come with me.
I want to visit the forest.
The one behind town.
Where the wealthy live.
In their fancy mansions.
Where they have parties.
At night.
Always at night.
We are going.
We’ll see what they’re hiding.
I’m tired of secrets.
I’m tired of lies.
We will uncover the truth.
We might be sorry.
But we’ll finally know the truth.


Light and dark.
Our souls.
Our feelings.
Soaring to highs.
Falling to lows.


A place of fantasy.
A place of illusion.
Windswept nights.
An oasis by the shore.
Are your eyes deceiving you?
Has a waterfall appeared
where once stood a beach?
A river to replace an ocean.
Anything is possible in Oasis, Florida.
Anything can happen if you believe in it.
Open the door and walk through.
Your life will never be the same.


Mysterious under-door seepages – “I Do” (1921)
The creeping liquid from my nightmares.
It’s alive in my book, THE DEAD GAME.
Excerpt from THE DEAD GAME
     They raced down the staircase, carrying their children, eager to reach the front door. Mary stopped dead in her tracks. A dark red substance was oozing into the house from under the door, creeping across the floor, devouring everything in its wake. They watched as the huge circular rug and the large hall table disappeared into its thick slime. Extending its reach farther out, it made its way toward them.
     A high-pitched keening cry was coming from within the slime. She backed herself into a corner. “It’s going to swallow us.”
     “Run out the back!” John shouted above the children’s frightened sobbing. He pushed her ahead of him. “Don’t think. Just make sure you get out of this house and down the stairs to the beach. Or else you might be living here forever.”
     They climbed through the destroyed kitchen, through detached pieces of ceiling, through broken pieces of cabinets and sharp shards from shattered dishes.
     Once outside, they were struck by flying debris. The patio was engulfed in a strong wind, which lifted the furniture high into the air. The white wicker pieces crashed against each other, the broken pieces falling into the empty pool.
     The pool had been filled already twice that season. The house had a mind of its own: it wanted the pool empty of water and her family gone; and it was making sure that it remained that way.
     The red liquid was creeping out beneath the kitchen door, inching its way toward them. She screamed above the sound of the howling wind. “It’s getting closer. It’s followed us outside. WE ARE ALL DEAD!”
      “We must escape now. Don’t look back. Just run.” John pulled on her arm.
      She gazed down the steep staircase to the rocky shore below, to the jagged rocks that were being beaten by the raging waves of the ocean. In her heart, she knew that their fate was not going to be much better.


The house is dark and deserted.
What is it trying to tell us?
Why are objects floating in the air?
Are ghosts holding them?
Are our minds being controlled
by some unknown force?
End House has its powers.
Powers of persuasion and illusion.
Cages are falling from the ceiling.
Are those rotating saws?
We better run for our lives.
THE DEAD love their games.


The hotel room is quiet.
The furniture looks shabby.
A dim light glows from a
small bedside lamp.
The carpet is worn from
years of footsteps.
You hear a strange noise.
A high-pitched static sound.
A sound emanating from the old T.V. set.
The black and white screen is on.
But you didn’t turn on the T.V.
A clown’s face appears on the screen.
He looks at you and says,
“Why are you here?
How dare you enter my room!
If you don’t leave right away,
I will just have to kill you.”
At first, you think it’s silly.
He’s only an image on a screen.
But then his hand reaches out.
Through the screen.
His fingers have long red nails.
His body begins to emerge.
He’s here.
For you.
You are no longer alone.