Walking on Quicksand by Nomar Knight

Walking on Quicksand

by Nomar Knight

I'm walking on quicksand

I'll never understand

Why dry spells come

Keeping stories undone

Deeper in quicksand

With pen in hand

Blank pages my foe

I just don't know

Need to break out

Not scream and shout

Change the routine

Instead of being mean

Quicksand pulls me deeper

Can sense the grim reaper

With scythe in hand

Words so bland

Kill me please

No need to tease

Fuzzy images appear

So close not clear

Must rise from within

Explore my own sin

Use the topic's flow

Watch the story grow

Good-bye quicksand

Had to take a stand

No more horror unsaid

Meet the walking dead

©2015 Nomar Knight. All rights reserved.

A Knight Chills poetic presentation.

Ramblins of a Dark Knight: Silent Voices

Ramblings of a Dark Knight: Silent Voices

Hello Knight Chills readers, it’s been awhile since I posted anything. I apologize, but something strange has been happening to me. For some unknown reason, the voices which fill my head with action-packed stories are silent. I spend many nights sitting on my porch, hoping to hear from a character, no matter how dangerous. Unfortunately, I can’t hear them. Gone are the loud screams in the night. Instead, I fill my time watching internet television, listening to music, and as of late, smoking a cigar.

Oh how I long for Candy, my favorite sexy character, to whisper about her current capers, but I guess she’s too busy. Heck, I’m getting desperate. I wouldn’t mind a visit from my favorite female vampire, the Countess Lorraina Sandoval, but she too has opted to stay away from me.

I admit the silence is aggravating. Normally, in between stints from my most popular characters like Oscuro the angel of suicide, or Lieutenant Woods the psychic homicide detective, I would get visits from psychotic killers. Sometimes they would only entice me with a poem instead of a fleshed out story. At least they used to show up and fight for my attention which has never been easy since I have attention deficit disorder.

Unfortunately, my nights have become peaceful. Gone are the restless nights, gone are the nightmares that had me waking up in a cold sweat, barely able to utter a breath before I would eventually regain my composure. The challenge would be to pen the details before sanity wiped away memories of torture, screams, misery, and blood. Oh how I miss the chaos.

Let’s face it. I’m concerned that I’m becoming civilized. The word itself makes me break out in hives. Niceness is making me weak. Another friend of mine called me a kind soul. Yuck! Give me a bloody murder! Point me in the direction of a good evil man to torture. Surely this strange funk can’t continue.

In the event that I go missing once again, send out a search party. Rescue this dark Knight from the dungeon of writer’s block. Feed me information about characters who are suffering and worth caring for. There must be a voice out there that’s loud enough to capture my attention and captivate my creativity. Until then, I’ll sit on my porch, gaze up at the night sky and listen to the maddening silence.

Don’t get burned by the light. Bask in true darkness and send some my way.

Nomar Knight

Experiencing Mid Novel Writing Blues?

Experiencing Mid Novel Writing Blues?

There's a rumor going around that many writers get to the middle of their novel and suddenly, the empty pages take over.  It's not writer's block, but more like a fear of success or a natural desire to break with routine.  So in the spirit of helping those who've struggled or are struggling with their masterpiece, this post is for you.

A writer died and was given the option of going to heaven or hell. 

She decided to check out each place first. As the writer descended into the fiery pits, she saw row upon row of writers chained to their desks in a steaming sweatshop. As they worked, they were repeatedly whipped with thorny lashes. 

"Oh my," said the writer. "Let me see heaven now." 

A few moments later, as she ascended into heaven, she saw rows of writers, chained to their desks in a steaming sweatshop. As they worked, they, too, were whipped with thorny lashes.


"Wait a minute," said the writer. "This is just as bad as hell!" 

"Oh no, it's not," replied an unseen voice. "Here, your work gets published."



I'm really not mean, but some days...

This is what happens when my muse takes over target practice.

There was once a young man who, in his youth, professed his desire to become a great writer. 

When asked to define great, he said, "I want to write stuff that the whole world will read, stuff that people will react to on a truly emotional level, stuff that will make them scream, cry, howl in pain and anger!" 

He now works for Microsoft writing error messages. 


A screenwriter comes home to a burned down house. His sobbing and slightly-singed wife is standing outside. “What happened, honey?” the man asks.

“Oh, John, it was terrible,” she weeps. “I was cooking, the phone rang. It was your agent. Because I was on the phone, I didn’t notice the stove was on fire. It went up in a second. Everything is gone. I nearly didn’t make it out of the house. Poor Fluffy is--”

“Wait, wait. Back up a minute,” The man says. “My agent called?”



Here's a clue you've just rented an apartment from a notorious crime family.





Before I became a writer, I tried my hand at singing.

Everyone's a Critic!

Most of us ignore the obvious signs throughout childhood that indicate what we'll be in the future.  Here's a glimpse at just one of the many signs that I would be a Horror Writer.




Writing is all about perception.





Okay.  That's enough wandering around for one day.  Time to get back to work and write something entertaining.





If I don't catch you on the dark side, then you can catch me on the lighter side. 


Nomar Knight



© Copyright Nomar Knight 2011. All rights reserved.

A Case of Mistaken Identity

In life, not everything is as it seems but some people prefer to ignore reality so much that they create a bogus world. I often wonder how many times I've witnessed a scene where people behave as society expects, creating the illusion of normalcy. Yet, if I take for granted what I see, I'd never know there was anything askew.

The same could be said about writing horror. When creating a scene, it's best not only to analyze the action but rather infuse malice to ordinary events. The objective should be to turn an innocent situation into someone's worst nightmare. By placing characters into plausible scenarios that are common to everyday life, a connection can be made with the reader, igniting the mechanism all horror writers hope to invoke--fear.

Here's an example:

Little Tommy Dunn scoops sand and gingerly places it on top of more grain. Droplets of sweat cascade off his long, curly hair landing on what he considers, his masterpiece. He packs in the sand with great care, biting his tongue, wrinkling his nose. A salty breeze mixes with a familiar lavender scent. He knows his mother is near.

"Tommy, you missed a spot."

The little first grader looks down and sees his classmate's big toe sticking out of the temporary makeshift grave.

"I told you to leave it alone. I drowned the little bully in the water so it'll look like an accident. They're supposed to find him anyway."

Little Tommy nods and smiles knowing that tomorrow school will be a more peaceful place.
While it's fun to make the ordinary horrific, it is even better when you apply the technique to a character. In my flash piece, "Mistaken Identity," I take a reader on a fantastic journey when the main character chases a familiar foe through an everyday urban setting.

Here's an excerpt:
The first time I saw the stranger, a bomb exploded at Times Square. I watched amazed as police officers rushed by unaware of the monster in our midst, but I knew what he was. He looked like them. You know the type. They hide their heads and their faces remain unshaven. I figured if I caught this fool, the FBI would have to let me back in.

I followed him back into the subway. His movements deliberate, his eyes cold and calculating. For a man of average height and portly build, he moved with uncanny stealth. I had to utilize my skills as a hunter not to lose him again because he had a knack for disappearing in a blink of an eye.
So the next time writer's block occurs, go outside, experience life and look at the ordinary with malice. You just may witness a wonderfully terrible case of mistaken identity.