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My name is Mike Pettit, Author,Writer, Novelist, Scribe, whatever. My alter egos, John Locke, Jack Marsh, Damian Wolf, Kimo Kanoa, and their pals live in my head 24/7, non-stop. They are like tracer rounds ricocheting around my brain. I know there are other like me out in the cyber world going though the same thing.

This is the go-to joint for everything suspense and mystery, a stake-out for writers that want to share their thoughts. Come on in, drop anchor, grab a cup of joe (or latte), and let's talk murder...or writing about it.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

This is my response to The Writers Digest at having lost the 2011 Poetry contest.
A Poet's Lament       
The Ides have past, the knife of rejection protrudes from my heart, my soul cries out for reason, my wail of grief goes unanswered, my sorrow runs deeper than the Styx, my life at it's end. Oh woe is this poet, not some mindless scribe, but words from the heart, and yet..and yet, I suffer the Ides, as Caesar suffered Brutus....
Oh, my sorrow runs deep, my tears of rejection are like burning embers in my eyes, My hand hath betrayed me, my tongue a lie, my uttering burnt offerings, my future no less than the malmsy butt. my life a copper lost in the ashes of Rome. Take no pity for this scribe, he hath succumbed to indifference and mediocrity.