Rest in Peace Granny

 

Rest in Peace Granny

It's okay to be sad.

It means you loved something enough to miss it.

And maybe, if you were lucky, it loved you back.

And THAT should make you happy.

And it's okay to be happy.

My Granny... Where do I even start...

Some people aren't even lucky enough to have met their grandparents, much less get to spend so much of their lives with one as I did. Everywhere we went, you went with us. Everything we went through, you went through with us. For the first 27 or 28 years of my life, you were always a walk away. Always.

A bend around the lake, the tickle of the willow over my shoulders, the little pond you meticulously kept to my right, and I was there, on your back porch again, and then in your house. Into safety. Into peace, into whatever I needed at any given time. You were very much my room of requirement, throughout so much of my life, you were the door that showed up when needed with what was needed.

You were the escape, you were the shade tree, you were the wall. You were the silly laugh, and mannerisms that we all can still imitate so easily. You were grocery store aisle farts and disappearances that always blamed us for the destruction left behind, you were the Christmas divinity candy turned into what looked like a marshmallow massacre in your kitchen, You were canned raviolis, potato salad, and the best damn egg sandwiches anyone ever ate (even Dillon mentioned them recently, even he remembers.) You were the coffee mug that never left the microwave. The dishwasher as storage. The wicker room with brittle white furniture where Dillon, John, and I used to hold wrestling matches at three am. You were Judge Judy, every single day. You were Bob Ross paintings and Sesame Street LIVE!, You were falling asleep on the couch. You were closets stuffed with clothes you would never wear. You were watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2 SO MANY TIMES that I still can't believe you didn't lose your mind. You were painting me a full-size red ranger on cardboard, cutting it out, and keeping it forever. You were watching me play video games until your eyes burned. You were at my first pro wrestling match in the back of that dumpy furniture store. You were late night viewings of Cheers, Mama's Family, M.A.S.H, and Night Court. You were patting me on the back until I fell asleep.

You were, without a doubt the font of my creativity. My mom was the one I got the singing from, Lord knows you couldn't carry a tune in a bucket with a handle, a lid, and a forklift. But what you could do was create.

Drawing, painting, building snowmen out of flower pots, landscaping... Your creativity is so much of the reason that I am creative, because I saw all of that and said "I want to too." So I did.

You were so much, that it is hard to say you were anything less than everything. 

Literally everything.

When I needed a safe place you were mine.

When I no longer needed a safe place, you were EJ's.

We only ever had one single fight. Just one. And it was over keeping EJ safe, we were on opposite sides but we both wanted the same thing. I'm just glad that none of that matters now, he's safe, we're safe, everything is exactly what you always hoped it would be. That worry is gone.

It's over. and I'm just glad you got to see it.

Before your stroke you wouldn't tell us something was wrong, but we all knew. We could see it in your face. In the timidity in which you spoke. You said "I love you" more, that was how we knew. And we all know you knew too. Maybe it was subconscious, but some part of you knew it was coming.

The last thing you ever said to me that was in your voice, was "I love you, and I miss you". after that you could never form words straight, but we understood you anyway. You tried. We tried.

Our last talk was you and me, and liu, and my mom laughing and joking, while you were drinking your diet pepsi and eating your biscuits and gravy. And that was fine. We didn't need anything more than that. Because we remembered. We remembered you before the stroke.

We remembered the three survived heart attacks, we remembered the tornado that hit the city while you were in the hospital for a heart attack, we remember the cancer, and the stroke, and we remember how you survived all of it.

All of it.

Nothing could kill you.

Nothing ever did.

You didn't die until you were ready. Fully ready. Tired. Not because you were sick, not because your own heart tried to take you out, not because a tornado tried to blow you away, not because of cancer's cowardice, not because a stroke.

You were just tired, and none of us blamed you.

Because we all remembered.

The last picture ever taken of you, the last picture that will ever be taken of you, was of you holding my first published book. A day later, you were in the hospital. three days later you died.

Only after you saw us all. Me, Liu, EJ, Little Michael. You waited, you made sure to wait until you knew we were all okay.

Then you went.

And we understood, because we remembered.

We all remembered. The strength. The stubborness. The pain. The worry. The protection. The safety. The laughs. The farts. The egg sandwiches.

We remembered it all.

They all did.


They all remember everything; Dillon, Justin, John, Zach, EJ, Liu, Little Michael, Big Michael, Paul, Shannon, Jack, Hallie, Keith, Cindy, My mom, me. We all remember you. And we will. Always.

Everyone loves you.

And how could we not?

P.S. When I was little, I remember a mother's day poem I wrote for you. One that I didn't know if I was allowed to write, felt weird writing a mother's day poem for someone who wasn't my mom. What did I know, I was dumb. Of course you can write a mother's day poem for your grandmother, you big dummy... 

But I wrote it anyway.

Mother's day is for mothers.

But that's good enough for me.

Cause if you weren't my momma's mom,

then I would never be.

You're the reason for so much.

Thank you.

The Morgue 1st Draft - Done!, Safe, Now Offering Publishing Assistance!

The Morgue 1st Draft - Done!

Well, well, well…

The final period has been placed.

The last comma curled into its rightful corner.

And the closing moment of existential dread has settled.

The first draft of The Morgue—book two in the Wicker Anthology—is officially complete.

With Wicker Hill only recently released into the wild, The Morgue now enters the editing phase, with plans to unleash it just in time for Halloween 2025.

And that timing feels perfect.

If Wicker Hill is the psychological horror of the series—layered with unease, haunting memories, and unraveling minds—then The Morgue is the physical horror.

This is the book where things get... tactile.

Think body horror.

Think the undead.

Think liminal spaces soaked in formaldehyde, where the line between life and death is less a boundary and more a suggestion.

Think him—the presence you don’t quite believe in... until he’s already inside you.

If you love cosmic dread wrapped in flesh, if you’ve ever feared the silence of a locked drawer in a morgue after hours, then The Morgue is your descent.

Just... read Wicker Hill first.

Trust me—you’ll want a map before you step into the dark.

The Morgue. Coming Soon.

Safe

“F.C.,” I hear you say, “don’t you think you’re working on enough stuff already?”

Yes.
Yes, I do.
But also—I’m going to die someday.
And I’ve got a lot of stories to tell before that happens.

God won’t wait. The devil’s impatient. And death’s already looking at his watch.
So I’ve got work to do.

One of those stories is Safe.
I’m currently in the late-stage brainstorming phase—laying the groundwork, feeling it out. And with The Morgue now complete, I’m planning to take a short breather from the Wicker Anthology to explore some of the other voices knocking on the door.

Safe is right near the top of that list.

It’s raw.
It’s personal.
And it taps into one of my favorite horror genres while also hitting closer to home than I expected.
It’s the kind of story that takes something beautiful and breaks it… just to show you how far love is willing to go to put the pieces back together.

I’m not ready to share all the details yet—but I will. Soon.
I just need to make sure it’s the right stop on this creative journey.

Kyle and Wren’s story is coming.
It’s just… I need to catch my breath first. Wicker Hill and The Morgue took a lot out of me. And I want to make sure I’m ready to handle the emotional weight of Safe—because it deserves that much.

And so do you.

Now Offering Publishing Assistance!

Are you a writer who’s always dreamed of becoming an author?

Yeah—so was I.
Until I got tired of waiting… and did it myself.

Wicker Hill became a Top 25 bestseller on IngramSpark, and I handled every part of the process:
Writing. Editing. Formatting. Publishing. Marketing. Website. Cover design.
All of it—myself.

Now, I’m proud to say I’ve helped another writer begin their publishing journey—Vermin, a revenge-fueled debut by Bryan Jones, is currently deep in the publishing pipeline.

If the process feels overwhelming—or you simply want to focus on what you love (writing)—I offer flat-rate services for every step of the journey. Whether you need a full publishing partner or just help getting across the finish line, I’ve got you covered.

Email me at FCMarrow@gmail.com, and let’s get you one step closer to seeing your name on that cover.