What exactly is going on here? I'm a writer. This is the house of my work. I post the first draft of everything I am currently working on and welcome feedback. Some of it then goes on and gets published in print form. My thanks to everyone who writes to tell me what they think of my work. These stories are posted for you, and your input influences them, and their author. Your generosity and thought, as well as challenges to keep on telling the hard stuff, inspire me. If you want to get ahold of me, please use the new email - azarnes@yahoo.com And please call me Smitty.

The Dead Come Knocking if You Leave the Screen Door Open

The black-haired girl sat on the wooden table holding a crystal skull. There was a likeness of feature between them that would have pleased her-had anyone been bold enough to tell her.

I got my start writing fan fiction for Xena. It gave me a forum to combine my love of history with a set of Greek paired heroes- who were women. This is rare, and exactly the point. In the tradition of Achilles and Patroklos, Heracles and Hylas, Herakles and Iolas, Apollo and Hyakinthos, Zeus and Ganymede, and from history, Alexander and Hephaestion. This was the first piece I wrote.

This is the sequel to Charioteer. In the West African nation of Benin, formerly known as Dahomey, there is a long tradition of warrior women fighting in their own corps. These Amazons, as they came to be known, used to protect the king of Dahomey. I went a few thousand years back, to what might have been an orgin for the myth and history of such a tradition. My nation of Amazons is purely fictious, but informed as much as I could by West African religion and mythology. Any flights of fantasy are my own.

This is the last in the Har stories. Death Cult takes up where Amazons of Dahomey lets off, and finishes the trilogy. I started this story years and a lifetime ago. The world has changed since. I took it up again as a birthday present for my freind Storm, who introduced me to Xena in so many ways. Historically, this is a pure mess, so suspend disbelief and enjoy.

A Triptych of Eros - A short valentine's tale written on February 14th 2001

Sharon’s driving for me tonight. She’s good, calm and quiet. I prefer that, I rarely speak when working. Passengers understand. Ever since Sharon came over she’s been volunteering to help. Compassion radiates from her. The driver never asks for tips, but Sharon will take them, if the passenger has to offer. It’s the small touches that make the trip easier. Black suit, black tie, white shirt, the uniform of a limousine driver or a boy going to confirmation. It helps when working a large crowd, people look right through you if they see you at all.

We were going back to Zoar Valley to leave food for Samantha’s ghost. Samantha had been dead for five months, give or take a week. The week difference depended on what form death took for you. It’s not as existential as it might seem. If you believed that the log that took out the back of her head killed her right away, then Samantha died down in the bottom of that gorge while Kim knelt, trying to hold the back of her skull together. If you believed she was still around in some way for the next week, while her body failed inches at a time, then she died in a hospital bed. I believed both. What was Samantha died in the bottom of that gorge, but her body clung to life, and to the people so madly clinging to her. We begged her not to go, it can’t have been easy for her.