Organized Stories

To keep myself from losing track of: all the 2025 contests I've entered, all the 2025 contests I've volunteered myself as a judge (or let myself be volun-told into judging), all the 2025 books I've had to read as a contestant or as a judge, all the 2025 deadlines, and all the other important stuff, here is a book that registers all these 2025 things in a somewhat organized fashion. With occasional commentary. Nota bene: Although other people are welcome to browse my public contest logs and look for contests, look for information about details of contests (i.e. you want me to pour you some tea), etc, these contest logs are primarily for my own use. I enter so many contests that I can't keep track of them without a log. I forget important details, too, including things like "Note to self: You do not get along with this contest host, best not participate in their contests." Like my 2024 contest log, this was never meant to be an "expose" book. I'm not exposing anybody. Contests are matters of public record, as are any comments made in the contest books. I'm just a ditz who needs a written log to keep track of everything. I would lose my head if it wasn't attached to my shoulders. I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY POETRY AND PROSE BEING USED TO TRAIN ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE

To keep myself from losing track of: all the 2026 contests I've entered, all the 2026 contests I've volunteered myself as a judge (or let myself be volun-told into judging), all the 2026 books I've had to read as a contestant or as a judge, all the 2026 deadlines, and all the other important stuff, here is a book that registers all these 2026 things in a somewhat organized fashion. With occasional commentary. For the record, I am not Lady Whistledown, and I do not have all the gossip of the ton. Nota bene: Although other people are welcome to browse my public contest logs and look for contests, look for information about details of contests (i.e. you want me to pour you some tea), etc, these contest logs are primarily for my own use. I enter so many contests that I can't keep track of them without a log. I forget important details, too, including things like "Note to self: You do not get along with this contest host, best not participate in their contests." Like my 2024 and 2025 contest logs, this journal was never meant to be an "expose" book. I'm not exposing anybody. Contests are matters of public record, as are any comments made in the contest books. I'm just a ditz who needs a written log to keep track of everything. I would lose my head if it hadn't been attached to my shoulders. I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY POETRY AND PROSE BEING USED TO TRAIN ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE

The End of a tale that should have been told long ago. Kenya Yewande, a biology enthusiast is with her husband Aren, carrying their newborn child in a world that wants to end their lives, full of monsters and ghouls and legally blonde fools they escape their human confinement to find a safe Haven for their child. But on their way, they come across a lab offering safety for work, they agree only to find out the wicked truth. Will they be able to survive this gruesome tale, or will their stories be told to the next generation for them to fix?

What happens when the line between a detective and a criminal disappears? Detective Isabel is a redhead with a spitfire reputation and a "girl boss" attitude that has made her one of Chicago's finest. She's used to working within the rules-until a shadow from a dark past forces her to break them all. Ivan is a man the law never could reach. A survivor of a brutal Russian syndicate, he's a living weapon with a code of his own and a debt to pay. He doesn't want redemption; he wants the man who stole his childhood. When their worlds collide over a shared enemy-the legendary and ruthless "Ghost"-the result is a high-octane explosion of wit, protective banter, and raw survival. From the neon-lit bars of the West Loop to the desolate, frozen heart of a Siberian black-site, Isabel and Ivan must decide: Are they partners, or are they just two people holding the same match to a world they're both ready to burn down? "Sixteen times," I heard Ivan's voice, a low, guttural growl that made the hair on my neck stand up. "You shot Elias sixteen times while he was tied to a chair. You wanted to see how much a soul could leak out before it vanished." I stole a glance over my shoulder. Ivan was a stranger. He had a jagged shard of the crystal chandelier in one hand and a service knife in the other. He wasn't going for a quick kill. He was painting the obsidian table with the Ghost's life, strike by calculated strike. "Ivan, please!" I choked out, my vision swimming. My hand was clamped over my ribs, the emerald silk of my dress soaked with blood. "I can't hold the door! I'm losing it, Ivan!" The sight of me-slumped, bleeding, but still holding the line-seemed to snap the tether. Ivan delivered the sixteenth strike, a final, brutal punctuation mark to his past, and let the knife clatter to the floor. The Ghost was a heap of broken, silent silk.

Welcome come to The preamble! This is where I organize my penpals, R4R schedule and other type of support for my fellow writers and followers. If want to request a R4R, F4F, C4C and V4V, this is the place. Because my Wattpad page is growing I want to be more organized and provide the best support I can to my fellow Wattpad friends Enjoy!

Follow the story of a girl who's lost her way, see her find her true self, and everything that happens along the way. People die, life moves on. But what do you do when you're the killer? No one could ever say I was normal. The thing about that is that… well, even I’m not sure. I’ve never been happy, not really, and I’ve done everything I could think of to change my life to see if I could fix that, but nothing ever worked. I’m serious; I’ve been an over-achiever, an under-achiever, a punker, a rocker, and a volunteer, everything a girl as young as I could do. Eventually I settled into something of a numb state, a place where I’m seemingly content, but with the burning, rumbling chaos hidden just beneath the surface. I suppose that’s why I was such a good criminal. I don’t really care if I hurt people, because I hurt so much myself. The chaos just brews, exploding into the perfect storm, to create the perfect master villain. They say I don’t have a heart. I do, sort of; I lost it years ago though. If you find it, let me know, won’t you?

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Like The Don said, "Buy this book, or I'll make you an offer you can't refuse." "Mobsters, Gangs, Crooks, and Other Creeps - Volume 2- New York City" is not a continuation of "Mobsters, Gangs, Crooks, and Other Creeps - Volume 1- New York City," but rather a complement to Volume I. Volume 2 starts in the time period of the early 1820's, and ends in the mid 1900's. This is not a book about nice people. This is a book about the lowest forms of life ever to walk the face of the earth: Mafioso, murderers, con artists, prostitutes, base street thugs, crooked politicians; people who do deliciously decadent things to other people, as easily as stepping on a roach . The exception is New York City Detective Joseph Petrosino, who took on the vicious Black Hand, but lost his life in Sicily because he wasn't exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. "Mobsters, Gangs, Crooks, and Other Creeps - Volume 2- New York City" is not for everyone. But if you enjoy reading about people who are so unaffected about what they do, they can eat a hot roast beef sandwich minutes after slitting some poor guy's throat, this book is definitely for you. Take a deep breath, fire up your Kindle, and enjoy. There are worse ways to spend $.99.