A cop. A hero. A wife.

Detective Cassie Quinn was all three, until a fiery automobile accident claimed her husband’s life, robbing Det. Quinn of her favorite title of all. But a year later, while investigating the murder of a dead prostitute, Det. Quinn is shaken to her core when a DNA analysis of skin tissue found under the prostitute’s finger nails came back with a positive match.

Her husband.

Throwing caution to the wind, Cassie stops at nothing to capture the murderer she once loved, leaving dead pimps, bikers, and crooked cops in her wake. However, as tension between Cassie and her boss reaches boiling point, discovery of the dead prostitute’s true identity turns her case, as well as her whole world, upside down.

Comminuted fractures

From head to toe

Side to side

Nationwide epidemic

Disconnected with internet access

America in a little black dress

No longer the damsel in distress

Courtesy of the forgotten

Emerging from the shadows

With a ballot

Imploring for Justice

But no sound from the mallet

Also deaf and dumb

Blindness, a pre-existing condition

The fragmentation is too severe

Rivals and bandages

Will not adhere

A billionaire whispers

To the shadow

And the map

Turned red with anger

Then turned to a stranger

And with a tear

In her eye

The shadow asked

"Can you make me great again?"

I scribble happiness with a mechanical pencil

And tattoo joy onto a blank sheet with ballpoints

Ink circulates my elation like oxygen

Through my blood stream

Can you feel it?

Inject it by virtue of pupils

Those that see and those in uniform

Spread the jubilation by word

Of mouth and fingertips

Until it is scattered across the globe

As bird seed for birds to feed

It is simple and plain

It is complex and deranged

We haven't created it

We only explain

How it makes us feel

How it makes us real, until

Happiness is born on the page

As a kid, I always had dreams of becoming things that I now realize would have been impossible for me to be, given my talents and skill set. I remember being a nine year-old kid pretending to be Steve Young, throwing touchdown passes to Jerry Rice. There was a time when I even dreamed of becoming a cyborg killing machine like "The Terminator." But the first time I ever truly had a dream I felt I could actually accomplish was when my Uncle Jack told me that I was a good writer. He told me that I had a way with words that could truly move people, and that it should be a goal of mine to become a writer. I don't know if Uncle Jack remembers telling me this when I was seventeen, but since then I've basically put all my eggs into this one basket, and have never contemplated becoming anything else.

I've been a Tupac fan for as long as I could remember. I remember hearing "Brenda's Got A Baby" on 106.1 KMEL in Oakland when I was in elementary, and it became one of my favorite songs. Of course, when I was 15, Tupac was killed and it was said, except for when all his music kept coming out. Then when I was 21 a documentary film of Tupac's life called "Resurrection" came out, and I was one of the first people to go see it. It was amazing, but there was one part that really got me. He talked about writing movies, and reading a book by Syd Field that taught about writing screenplays. I bought that book and studied it the best I coould, wrote my own screenplay, and moved down to L.A. to try and sell it. I failed. I ended up moving back in with my parents, because I blew all my savings on that move to L.A.. Now, I find myself in the peculiar position of living with my uncle Jack again.

It's been 17 years since Uncle Jack told me I was a good writer. So far, I haven't been good enough at my craft to gain any recognition from the powers that be, but my ambition to become what I know I was born to be hasn't dwindled. No matter how many people tell me I need to be realistic.

2 years ago I promised myself I would never get another 9 to 5 job again, just to kind of push myself to reach my goal by any means. Sort of a "do or die" type of pact, but I think that my have been "unrealistic". Today, I'm searching online for jobs in Park City, while Uncle Jack tries to help me get back on my feet, and back in good standing with the church. I was a little hesitant with Uncle Jack offered to help me out, because I knew what it entailed. However, I thank God for bringing right back to the beginning, and reigniting my ambitions to become a writer.