Door Number Four (Tuesday’s Tell-All)


Donald S. Crowley was a CPA by day; a bean counter; a number cruncher and a certified bore. By night he was as stimulating as the hero in his latest read with all the social skills of a brick and to make matters worse he was in love with a door. Not just any door, number four was special. Her alluring smile had caught Donald’s eye when he was just a boy and she called him by name. Despite years of therapy and medications she still called to him. Now he would risk his life to see her again and to finally know what lay behind Door Number IIII.

It is hard to believe Door Number Four was published over six years ago. Wow! That means I am six years older and [probably] none the wiser.

Four years ago this month Door Number Four was published in audio. Another wow! I could have earned a Bachelors degree in that 48 months or sailed around the world a few times.

Oh well…

I can’t accurately account for the years that have passed but I can tell you when I think of Door Number Four (or IIII) I am still proud of this quirky, surreal, sci-fi love story. It still intrigues me. And secretly I would love to see it in film.

I was digging in my archives for another project when I happened upon this narration sample of Door Number Four narrated by Christopher Lane.

I confess I still giggle a little when I listen to it.


Don Crowley cursed the noisy autumn leaves beneath his feet. No matter how lightly he tread on the foliage it crackled and hissed, mocking his every step, his very existence.

Another truth, sometimes when I meander through the woods picking berries, soul-searching or conversing with the wild animals, I wonder what really became of Donald S. Crowley. And sometimes…

Sometimes I think I hear Tetra seductively calling to him. “Donald, come.”

*Available wherever e-books are sold.

Behind Door Number Four (And Where the Heck is Donald Crowley?)

I would like to think Donald Crowley would be impressed with this new cover but he (for whatever reason)  is not returning my calls.

Encase you don’t know Don, here’s a little bit about him — or rather his past.

Donald S. Crowley was a CPA by day; a bean counter; a number cruncher and a certified bore. By night he was as stimulating as the hero in his latest read with all the social skills of a brick and to make matters worse he was in love with a door. Not just any door, number four was special. Her alluring smile had caught Donald’s eye when he was just a boy and she called him by name. Despite years of therapy and medications she still called to him. Now he would risk his life to see her again and to finally know what lay behind
Door Number IIII.

Available wherever e-books are sold.

A short, short story about a timeless life.

Inspired by Time and Eternity, on a topic I have often dwelt on and for whatever reason I feel compelled to share a piece written in in 2011. And congratulations to Snowak for being Freshly pressed

 A short, short story about a timeless life.

Consumed by a paralyzing and debilitating dread. Lying inert as frenzied milliseconds spark still frames with bursts of terrestrial years past.
Whirling memories so fast they pin my mind to the wall with such intense pressure I cannot even utter why or what.
And then…
Quiet… Calm… Tranquility as clean and clear as the waters of a mountain spring. A peace more pure than morning dew.
Entrancing light more than warms and welcomes me, it heals me.
All of my troubles now seem trivial, fleeting, and totally unimportant.
I am overcome by a sense of well being… an indescribable comfort that makes pain, sorrow and worry words I no longer  comprehend.
There are no strangers here, I know everyone and everyone knows me. The glowing they emit is untainted and wholesome, it is love and it nourishes my spirit.
The further I travel from this flesh and bone shell, the more peaceful and perfect I feel.
Awakened to the memory of such wonder and well being I can see the universe. Where we have all been, where we are going, together.
I am not grieved for anyone who is not here, only grateful for those present.
I want to ask questions but none of them really matter now. The few inquiries I have are answered before I can speak:
Yes, they are here. The answer is no. Time? Time has many meanings. .. All in due time.
A sudden jolt and I awake ensnared in this weak, pained, decaying carcass. More aware now of all these imperfections, though less troubled by them for they are the fate of every man to some degree.
I am made aware that the anxiety of transition will remain. As it was coming into the flesh, it will be when returning to the spirit. Much like the fear of a roller coaster one is determined to ride.
Death comes to every life and life comes from every death.
And me…. I nearly lived.