Spencer Reaves McCoy
I’ve been writing as long as I can remember — everything from horror and thrillers to fantasy to romance. I believe good fiction is much more than just make-believe. We fall in love with characters, learn morality from tall tales, and the right story — written or read — has the power to change the world.
What do I write?
Everything. Literally everything. When I’m not writing novels, I’m writing short stories, poetry, news articles, blog posts, marketing ads, and non-fiction tutorials.
I am at my most honest and most sincere when I am telling stories.
Epic fantasy, pyschological thrillers, sci-fi westerns, horror, and a couple horror novels, just for fun.
Sure, novels are a joy. But doneright, a decenet short story can be unleashed lightning.
Reviews, tutorials, some how-to guides, and a general assortment of poetry and research studies.
Sometimes I hate this.
I don’t like blogging, I’ve never been good at it for myself. Maybe because I work in marketing when I’m not putting words on paper and I know the tricks. It’s all very commercial, and I’m not a fan. I get it, I don’t always like it. But I still have some things to say. Sometimes.
The brutal murders in Chesire, Montana should be headline news, even if the town itself is hardly more than a passing glance. But nobody’s talking about the dead children, the town’s brand new amblance and fire truck, or the fact that the lumber shipped from town has been rotting for the last decade.
Drugs and lies are everywhere, but it’s the man who has the best intentions that puts Chesire at most risk. And it’s his son that might be able to make the difference.
Imaginative. Greedy. Familar. The story of Chesire is one you already know. You’ve always known it, you just didn’t want to see.
Fun to write.
Scary to think about.
The First of the Mermaids – Part I
Once upon a time, in the deepest, bluest waters of the sea, there were creatures born from moonlight who needed no air to breathe, and could smile, laugh, and sing. This is a story about the first and how she came to be.
Leara Schlinn was just two years younger than Nim, and each year, the sisters looked more and more alike. Their lineage was as ancient as the moons themselves, and perhaps it was the moonlight itself that inspired their look.
In a land of scorching sun, the Schlinn family stood out with pale, nearly translucent skin that never burned or even tanned. They had straight, stark-white hair and eyes the same color as a field of orchids.
Today, Nim was brushing Leara’s hair, and she wasn’t being all that gentle about her strokes.
“Ow,” Leara complained, “Could you try not to rip my scalp open with that thing?”
Because what writer doesn’t love to learn more about writing?
Mythical Unicorn – A World Building Site
Hashtag Writing – Community Content for Writers by Writers
Get In Touch
Have a book about to launch? Let me know and I’ll read and review!
Looking for a Proofreader and editor! Can barter services happily.
If you’re book is going to be judged by it’s cover, at least let me help make it a good one!