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"Fiction Has No Boundaries" I AM DENO SANDZ

"If a writers work is to be read, the writer too must be read" Deno Sandz

RELEASING in #2018 A #Supernatural/#Horror #Thriller #Novella HEALTHCARE”©  by Deno Sandz Brief Synopsis/Story Idea are copywrited by Deno Sandz© The Healthcare System of 2018 and their workers are significantly flawed and unsympathetic. This negligent system will be judged by their hiring decision and their worker will be punished for adhering to the status quo of not caring. A selfish, hustling, mean, and thieving young licensed home  Healthcare worker who only does just enough for her clients, sees an opportunity in the newspaper and takes a part time job from dawn to dusk in an elderly woman’s home who is in a wheelchair. Unbeknown to the worker, there’s something horribly evil lurking in the elderly woman’s soul. 

RELEASING in #2018
A #Supernatural/#Horror #Thriller #Novella

HEALTHCARE”©  by Deno Sandz

Brief Synopsis/Story Idea are copywrited by Deno Sandz©

The Healthcare System of 2018 and their workers are significantly flawed and unsympathetic. This negligent system will be judged by their hiring decision and their worker will be punished for adhering to the status quo of not caring.

A selfish, hustling, mean, and thieving young licensed home  Healthcare worker who only does just enough for her clients, sees an opportunity in the newspaper and takes a part time job from dawn to dusk in an elderly woman’s home who is in a wheelchair. Unbeknown to the worker, there’s something horribly evil lurking in the elderly woman’s soul. 

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY!!!  Read my EXCLUSIVE article published  in the JULY 2016 ISSUE of #1 SQ MAGAZINE.“THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS FROM NEOPHYTE to DOMINUS in the HORROR GENRE”By Deno Sandz 

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY!!!  Read my EXCLUSIVE article published  in the JULY 2016 ISSUE of #1 SQ MAGAZINE.
“THE TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS FROM NEOPHYTE to DOMINUS in the HORROR GENRE”

By Deno Sandz

 
My definition of journey; is to start from one point in your life and ending up at your destination. My journey towards reading and writing unfolded at an early age. I began citing complete words and was able for the most part, write them down. However, conflicts I faced during my childhood could have hindered my advancement, but did not.
As a young boy my imagination was fueled by myths and superstitions, heard from my grandmother, mother, and other people in the south.

Nightmares became a second nature to me while growing up. The only way to conquer them was to write them down. Soon I grew a custom to them and learned to love the depth of my horrific dream. My desire to spread fear (False Evidence Appearing Real) spawned from these nightmares. I believe in ghost. Because without ghost, demons, angels, saints, God, Satan, good, and evil the other world I write about would not exist.  Fiction and truth are close friends.

I remember my father taking me to the library as an extracurricular activity.

He would always say, “Read, write, and comprehend. The pen is mightier than the sword.” My journey to reading and writing has taken me through aisles of literature books.  My father believed that information is knowledge and knowledge is found in books. 

My mother was and is a great writer and told stories about real life, southern myths, and superstitions.  My father was extremely intelligent. He was a man of vision, a cultured historian, and researcher. My father prided himself on having knowledge even on his deathbed thirteen years ago. 
Our families’ foundation, our very existence is built on learning.  My mother loved church and had me sitting next to her every Sunday as a child.  In my hands, I always held a large semi-frayed brown bible flipping through the pages, trying to read every word. Sometimes no matter how silent I flipped the noise would disturb her due to the fact the church was quite. The large words that eluded my vocabulary intrigued me.  I thirsted for knowledge and loved it. I always wanted to be like my father and mother.  They are the seekers of knowledge. They possess the passion for the power of the pen and the unsung freedom of reading. Mother would say, “Our people struggled through slavery, Jim Crow laws, racism, and segregation in order to be able to read and write.  My mother is a Pastor and my father was a Veteran and an Air Traffic Controller, both born in the south.  I would be defying my bloodline if I did not strive to be the best writer.  I remember my father asked me if I knew where America hides information on the past.  I didn’t know.  Then, he smiled and said, “Books.”  Reading inspired me and writing compelled me to use my imagination.  Combined they saved my life and summoned the gift I use to this day. 

Family influence on a child can be administered in only two ways, beneficially or negatively. I received the beneficial and I’m forever grateful. Everyday there is a struggle in me to turn the tides of this genre.  The business nature of these magistrates of literary placement can send waves that crash against your soul and your talent; becoming at some point a battering ram that shakes your inner foundation at unexpected times. Endure…endure I speak to myself on the mental shores of perpetual thought of becoming the best.  Melodies from my spiritual ocean of dark imagination and creativity are lightened by the native songs of my ancestors embedded in a distance of encouragement and embracing me.  My reality rears its pilgrimage symbol; a fictional birth mark on the souls of its readers as I progress in this horror fiction endeavor.

About sixteen years ago I pulled out Miss Mary Weather: A Southern Nightmare that had been hand written and I said, “Why not type it and submit it.”  The rest is history.

There aren’t many notable African-American horror writers in the horror genre that could spark true fear.  I could have written drama, urban gangster, sex, etc.  However, I wanted the world to know that by driving the nail down with a thunderous hammer of creativity, visualization, and imagination that horror is being brought forth by an African-American male who embraces the genre of horror beyond literary belief. This motivates me to want to bring unconditional life to the horror fictional world. I’ve written short stories that have dramatic plots.  I’ve written poems about reality and comedy and emotional screenplays. Also, I’ve had the opportunity to write articles on society, religion, and human interest. 

One thing I’ve learned is that writers should take the good reviews with the bad reviews and not complain.  Learning not to complain in American’s literary society is easier than learning to complain. You must understand that the Systematic structure in the literary industry can one day be disapproving, unimaginative, and even disrespectful leaving you at odds with your writing ambitions.  Unless there is a deep rooted strength of survival embedded in you to continue on and make a difference in history.

“You must fight the good fight.”

This is my life and my dream despite the everyday struggles to take care of a family.  So there’s no foreshadowing of the future.  But I believe my future rest on my “writing gift,” and yes, it is what I thought it would be.  You have to color before you can write, equates to crawl before you walk. Accomplishment is the foundation of hope.  Without hope a writer never gets to his/her pinnacle. 

The advice I would give aspiring writers: Create your own style, and be complacent, even though, some may not grasp your creativity at that time. Also, if you are not inspired to write on your own, why write.  If you are not willing to be inspired, why write.  Bad reviews should not discourage you from continuing to write, build on them. In addition, remember: “If a writer’s work is to be read, the writer too must be read.”-Deno Sandz

There are three things I wish I had known before reaching this point in my career. I would have tried to save more money to promote my books, not to except every offer from publishers who did not understand my vision, and how patient you must be to even get a glimmer of what a successful writer is. There is satisfaction and disappointment in this meticulous literary horror realm. I see it like this: There could not be good without bad, light without dark, and moon without sun.  Therefore, I must say I’ve received more satisfaction as my career has progressed. The disappointment comes early on in your career.

I create horror books; however, my objective is to leave behind a legacy to my children and grandchildren. Legacies can be left behind on a rock or tree by writing your name. They can also be legacies of greatness and success despite the obstacles and barriers. My legacy to them will be my love for literature and an understanding of what I have accomplished. I would like to leave you with this:

I AM A CREATIVE, I AM UNIQUE, and I AM A STORYTELLER. I hold these horrors to be self-written, that all of them are created with equal FRIGHT, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable NIGHTMARES that among these are EVIL, FEAR, DARKNESS, and the pursuit of Visualization, Imagination, and Creativity within the readers mind.

All books are available @www.amazon.com/author/denosandz

#IAMDENOSANDZ #IAMHORRORFICTION #indieauthor #indiemusic #storytellers #thegreats #famous  #historical I’m honoured to be placed with so many great people. 

#IAMDENOSANDZ #IAMHORRORFICTION #indieauthor #indiemusic #storytellers #thegreats #famous  #historical I’m honoured to be placed with so many great people.

AVAILABLE NOW!!!

“The Reality of Evil” “Streets Paved by Hell” “Unwavering Fear” “Shock Provoking” “Suspenseful Horrifying” “An Emotional Soul Ride to Damnation” “Bloodcurdling Horror” “Fiction Unpredictable” “A Story of Redemption”

             “THE SIN CUP”
                    by Deno Sandz

Thrust in to a bloodline of savagery, drugs, evil, hustling, and murder. In a city of horrific realities, inside a world of true shadowy evils: Belive, since before birth would have to deal with the sins of his father, unknowingly being watched and manipulated by  demons to follow the thorniest path of his father. Soon, Belive’s soul is consumed and inevitably is tricked in to drinking from the SIN CUP.

Belive T. End reaches five years old when his father; Terrence End aka Ranke, a big time ruthless gangster/drug dealer boss on the streets of East Cleveland’s Row House projects, mysteriously disappeared on the night of his 21st birthday leaving Belive and his mother Shayla Solis alone in the unforgiving and evil hood that Ranke built. Soon the money, power, and Ranke’s name in the hood would fade and others would take control-forcing Shayla to take care of Belive on her own and move to another area in the city.

Check out @TraCee_tr’s Tweet: https://twitter.com/TraCee_tr/status/863896511075295232?s=09

PART #6  #READ, #IMAGINE, and #PREPARE for what comes next in the story!!!     “UpRISING” by Deno Sandz 

PART #6

 #READ, #IMAGINE, and #PREPARE for what comes next in the story!!!

    “UpRISING” by Deno Sandz

The scenery in the delivery room encased the essence of a wintery snow. Only the metallic shine of the stethoscope around the neck of the delivery doctor and the instrument tray interrupted the room’s bland stereotype of sterile. As Lily clenched the hand of Gabol.

“Push,” the doctor repeated.

Gabol rubbed her head to comfort her. His eyes welcoming his creation as his heartbeat ran rapidly.

Suddenly, with Lily’s last push. There child was born. His earthly  cries were heard down the long hallway.
The doctor spoke after the child’s cries diminished.

“It’s a boy.”

The nurse cleaned the child up, handed him to Lily, and left the room. 

“Congratulations to you,” the doctor spoke, as exited the room.

Unbeknown to them, on the ledge on the outside of the window several crows nested staring at the drawn window blinds welcoming the child to earth.
Lily turned to Gabol.
 
“This is our son Gabol.” Gabol reached over and grabbed his son from her, staring at him. Not noticing the flickering of orange in his eyes.
 
“Your name shall be Cotrul.”

“Where did you get that name from?”

“Don’t know. I just think it’s fitting for him.”

Gabol hands their son back to Lily. Then, Lily moves the blanket from his body.

“Gabol, did you see this on his shoulder?”

“See what,” leaning over.

“It’s just a birth mark baby.”

“But it’s shaped like a key.”

“Wow, it does look like a key. He’s just special. We created a special boy.”

“I agree.”

The years progressed, Cotrul grew, and his father and mother adored him. However, during his kindergarten stage, Cotrul seemed to be different from other children and his parents were  steadfast in a conumdrum because of  his unprecedented and unearthly abilities.

As Cotrul aged and began to walk.  They would witness him fall down on his knees, but there would never be a scrape. During familytime he placed his hand in the fireplace, but the flames did not burn him. The cold during a frigid winter at twenty below never effected him. Finding him on the front porch with only a t-shirt and house shorts on eating snow.  He would submerge himself in the bathtub during his bath and could breathe underwater, as if breathing air. Gabol sensed things before they happened and could hear screams from miles away. Once a dog tried to bite him, but it’s teeth could not penetrate Gabol’s skin. His parents kept this away from administrators, by taking him out of traditional school and home schooled him. Because a mother’s and father’s love for their unusual child was admiral.
 
Time continued and Cotrul had reached eight years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days. The next day would be his ninth birthday and a surprise party with gifts, balloons, cake, candles, and ice cream would be given to him by his parents. As he waited with the babysitter for their return from the store.  However…

TO BE CONTINUED…

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