Writing Out Child Abuse

A Light In The Darkness Now Available For Purchase! by J.S. Wayne

There’s a certain irony in the fact that Writing Out Child Abuse is nine months, twenty-five days old today. To put that another way, this labor has gone on two weeks longer, at forty-two, than the average gestation period for a human baby. And make no mistake, it has been labor. The difference, of course, is that this labor has been shared by a small army of authors, publishing people, cover artists, and people who have generously opened their blogs to allow the authors of WOCA to come talk about A Light In The Darkness.

As I write this, I’m tired, but very happy and very proud. Having read the finished product of the anthology from cover to cover, I’m more convinced than ever that I made a good call with every story I accepted for publication. This book took blood, sweat, and tears to make a reality, but we did it, by God. The authors put up with my endless fussing and tweaking on the editorial side, while Laurie Sanders at Black Velvet Seductions showed me some ropes I didn’t know about and pointed out things I’d simply overlooked in the headlong rush to get other tasks accomplished.

So much remains to be done, however. WOCA now possesses a federal EIN number, step one in setting up a non-profit organization that can be recognized at the local, state, and federal levels. Now, of course, comes getting the money together to be able to file the requisite paperwork so WOCA will be doing business legally as a charity and dealing with the myriad other details that go into creating a charity.

In addition, WOCA is now accepting submissions for a second anthology. This call closes on October 1st. You can view the details at http://gilliancolbert.wordpress.com/2012/06/10/please-help/ if you’re interested in writing for this call. Submissions should be sent to wocasubs@gmail.com. All stories will be read, considered, and replied to as quickly as possible, but I’m aiming for a turnaround of one week between none and done.

As much as there is to do, and as weary as I am right now, it’s the kind of tired that comes from a job well done. I couldn’t be prouder or happier with the authors who answered the first call, and all of them have earned a debt of gratitude I can never properly repay. Similarly, Laurie Sanders at BVS, who I have truly come to consider an angel in the flesh, has been such an immense help that I could rave for days on end and never fully or adequately describe what an incredible bastion she’s been throughout this endeavor.

Thank you all.

To get your copy of ALITD, as we’ve come to call it, simply click the cover below or visit


And with that, ladies and gentlemen, I’m off. With so much to do, I don’t really have time to send my cape to the cleaners just yet!

Until next time,


J.S. Wayne


We Don’t Need Another Hero… by J.S. Wayne

This sentiment formed the basis of the theme song to the smash hit Beyond Thunderdome, starring Mel Gibson and Tina Turner. In the movies and in books, there’s really only room for one hero, or at most a small group of heroes.

Here in the real world, things are a little different. Comic-book archetypes form the basis of our morality, daring each of us to be an extraordinary person and stand against the darkness. Everyone has the opportunity to be a hero, and the fact is in this world, we need every one we can get.

If this holds true for adults, it is doubly so for children. How many times have you read a book or watched a TV show where one of the characters reminisces about wishing a superhero would swoop in and carry them away? It’s a sad but nonetheless true fact that too many children can’t even claim their parents or loved ones as heroes, because those very people who are there to shelter and protect children instead use them in vile and hideous ways, for their own pleasure and to deflect the shame of what they allowed themselves to become.

The authors and production staff of A Light In The Darkness, WOCA’s inaugural anthology, are not heroes. We’re all just regular, ordinary people who share a common cause and a common hatred of anything which harms children. But, in the long months since the initial call went out, all of these people have done extraordinary things, carving out great swaths of time and sacrificing sleep, time with friends, family, and other valuable matters to make this anthology happen.

In a way, I had the easy job: All I had to do was read and give my thoughts. Organizing, keeping everyone on track and on task, and making sure the wheels ran smoothly was largely due to the efforts of Gillian Colbert. Hey, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m the guy for ideas and extra muscle, but I’m not so shit-hot on minutiae. That’s where Gillian’s innate eye for detail and organization comes in, and she deserves thanks neither I nor anyone else can ever adequately give.

Renee Vickers played her role as well, helping me keep my mind right and focused on why I started all this in the first place. Being an editor sometimes feels like playing the role of a budget-rate Atlas, and my hat’s off to anyone who can do that and still keep their drive to write their own material. Having a good friend around to talk to makes a world of difference, and she managed to help deflect my doubts about my ability while still finding the time to write her own material!

Eric Keys and Phoebe Valois both brought great stories and a fresh eye to the table, as well as some new perspectives on why a project like this matters. I’m very proud to have gotten to work with them, and it’s going to be very exciting to introduce these inspiring new talents to the world.

And Laurie Sanders, with Black Velvet Seductions . . . well, I don’t KNOW enough superlatives to adequately describe her and her commitment and assistance with this project, so I won’t even try. Let it suffice to say that if there was ever a person the appellation “angel” described, she’s it!

Okay, okay, enough gushing.The point is, we DO need heroes. However many we manage to assemble, it will always have to be plus one to protect every child who needs it. By doing something as simple as purchasing this anthology, you can help.

You can be a hero.

I promised y’all an excerpt when we were talking at the bar, and I’m going to deliver. Here’s a snippet from “A Hope In Hell,” one of my stories in A Light In The Darkness. Don’t forget to check out the ALITD blog tour, coming soon from Sizzling PR and featuring the WOCA authors! In the meantime, I really hope y’all enjoy this excerpt, and I’ll be back soon!

(The cover was supposed to go here, but an ID10T error prevented me from posting today. Next time, folks. Trust me, it’s worth the wait.)

Edit: Wait no more! Thanks to R. Renee Vickers, it’s here!

In A Light in the Darkness, the inaugural anthology from the authors of WOCA, a dark world awaits you.
Spanning centuries of time, encircling the globe, and running the gamut from eerie historical fiction to gritty
urban fantasy to page-scorching erotic romance, these authors unflinchingly dissect the horror of child abuse
in all its forms. These authors have taken great pains to ensure the innocent are assured justice and the guilty
pay for their crimes in the unique fantasy worlds they have created. Sadly, in real life, this is not always the case.
This book contains scenes of graphic violence and honest depictions of child abuse. Readers who may find such material unduly disturbing, objectionable, or “triggering” are strongly advised not to read it.
Some of the newest and hottest names in fiction have lent their talents to this collection, including Gillian
Colbert, Amber Green, R. Renee Vickers, Eric Keys, Phoebe Valois, and J.S. Wayne. All of these authors are
united by one core belief, and with this collection, they seek to turn their talents to a greater good.
One hundred percent of all proceeds from this collection are being donated directly to Writing Out
Child Abuse. These proceeds will then be dispersed to charities whose sole aim is to help survivors of child
abuse all over the globe. To learn more about WOCA or their fund-raising activities, or to get involved yourself, visit http://wix.com/writingoutchildabuse/intro.

She decided in moments that she didn’t care for the
feeling of traveling across the veil. The nausea and
discomfort the transit caused made her cranky and
irritable, ready to take offense at the tiniest slight. On
the other hand, that wasn’t wholly a bad thing, so long
as she vented her ire in the right direction.
The ranch-style suburban house appeared perfectly
normal to her regular sight. White siding, pale blue trim,
lawn the size of a postage stamp. The shrubs butting up
against the one-story dwelling were uniformly manicured
and well-maintained, the first of the spring flowers
peeping out between the branches.
She took a long sniff of the balmy evening air. It was
still early enough that her presence on the street wouldn’t
be taken amiss. After adjusting the hem of her green
jumper, she reached up checked her beret to be sure it
was squarely seated on her head. Normal, meaningless
gestures that had nothing to do with the reality of the
situation, but they would satisfy any observer.
Squinting slightly, she stared at the house again. Her
stomach fluttered as she invoked the odd sense only her
kind possessed. The pleasant, typical suburban home was
stripped away to be replaced by a vision of the true nature
of the inhabitant and the deeds the house had witnessed.
The house reeled and cringed on its foundation as if
struck by a god’s fist, the paint peeling and cracking,
running in some spots in bruises and lacerations
as produced by Sherwin Williams. The windows
spiderwebbed and jagged fangs of glass fell out of the
panes to tinkle onto the porch, falling through missing
boards in some places and crashing onto the warped wood
in others. Soon only the empty holes remained, as lifeless
and blank as a tragedy victim’s eyes.
She watched through the weed-choked chain link
fence as the ground began to shiver and boil, vomiting up
clods of earth and tangles of roots. Among the grasping
fingers of the broken roots, brownish and reddish pebbles
began to show through the spewing earth. The pieces
became larger and larger, until she recognized a small
thigh bone mingled among the destruction. A low moan
like the rustling of a dry desert wind howled around her,
the innocents who had suffered and died here screaming
out from their unhallowed and unknown graves for
surcease and revenge.
A head-to-toe shudder racked her tiny frame, and she
fought the urge to recoil. She pushed away the vision by
force, blinking several times to try to erase the memory
from her mind without success. Swallowing hard, she
squared her shoulders and marched up to the door, a half dozen
brightly colored boxes tucked under her arm. She
mounted the small flight of stairs leading to the porch
and rang the bell, taking care not to touch anything more
than absolutely necessary.
The dignified chime cut through the canned laughter
of a TV show. In a few seconds, a rustling from the
general area of the forced merriment told her the
homeowner would soon be arriving. She took one step
backward, hoping the queasiness in her stomach didn’t
show on her face.
The porch light clicked on and the door opened.

Until next time,


J.S. Wayne

Healing by Diamonds and Dogs

When J.S. asked me to write a page or two about “you and what WOCA means to you,” I thought sure, no problem, yet I’ve sat here for about half an hour just staring at a blank screen. How do you encapsulate a project that represents both a labor of love and penance? When J.S. first sent me the link for WOCA, I was simply looking for ways to promote my erotica writing. My thoughts didn’t really go beyond that, however, I clicked the link and was pulled into his story of why he founded Writing Out Child Abuse and I knew that I wanted to be a part of the project even if not one single word of my own writing made it into the anthology.

I could quote statistics about children who are abused, but truthfully we all know them even if we choose to look past them. What child abuse means to me, however, is my niece who was molested at nursery school, my friend who was sold as a young girl to pay for her sister’s drug habit, my sister’s best friend who was molested by her father for years until she finally broke free when she went to college, my friend in high school who came to school covered in bruises in testament to her father’s need to “keep her in line,” and my own experience as a thirteen year old whose science teacher tried to trade physical acts for getting out of detention.  And, this is just my own personal circle.

I was lucky.  I ran and reported my teacher. It did no good, he wasn’t even punished, but he didn’t touch me.  Not everyone is as lucky as I was and they carry scars I can’t even begin to imagine. But, that doesn’t mean that I’m pristine in this. The abuse I personally suffered was that of neglect. Parents who left me alone to raise myself, who left me to suffer at the age of four with a broken collar bone because they “didn’t believe it hurt” so it had to be rebroken and healed crooked, who provided food and shelter but nothing else, who belittled and humiliated me at every turn. Emotional abuse carries its own scars, the worst of which though, are the ones that make you think that type of behavior is normal and okay. They are your parents after all. We are hard-wired to believe they know what they are doing.

I absorbed their lessons and carried them with me into adulthood. I became the very thing that had harmed me. I neglected those closest to me. I poured my attention and care into my indulgences and avoided all emotional connection. I became mean and bitter and was toxic to be around. The invisible chains of abuse were firmly wrapped around me and I couldn’t see them until one day my daughter told me exactly why she never wanted to see me again.

There is nothing like the honesty of children. They don’t pull any punches and the mirror they hold up to your face is unlike any that an adult could provide. You can rationalize an adult’s world view, but a child doesn’t have enough life experience to manipulate at that level.  She was right. I knew I had to find a way to break the cycle of abuse that I was perpetuating.  I began to write poetry. I found I could say things poetically that I am unable to articulate in speech.  It’s been a rough road, the insecurity and worthlessness that I carry runs deep. The anger festers. I struggle to find ways to channel it productively and am working on embracing success as the best form of therapy.

In one of my worst periods, a good friend told me that when you harm something you have to also try to heal it. The Light in the Darkness anthology is part of that healing process.  Children are precious and they need to be cherished. It is my hope that this project will help bring a little light into the lives of children who at this very moment are scared and hurting. They deserve it.

I Want to, But … by Diamonds and Dogs

Note: As many of you may know, J.S. is recovering from a health mishap. So, while he wrestles with the existential question of how to relax and still be productive, I’ll be holding down the fort over here on the WOCA blog.


A lit candle

A light in the darkness

When I first saw the call for the WOCA anthology, I immediately knew I had to be a part of it. Child abuse touches us all in a variety of ways and the concept of being part of an endeavor that actually could provide a tangible benefit to abuse victims was irresistible. I jumped on board and began to communicate with J.S. about my submission and anything else I could to do help.

It came as quite a shock to me to find out several months later that J.S. was actually short the number of authors he needed in order to get the anthology published. I had honestly assumed that there would be no shortage of submissions. Once I heard this news, I knew there was no way I was going to standby and not at least try to recruit some more submissions. If that didn’t work, we’d try something else, but it hurt nothing to post a request up on my blog. Many of my readers also write fiction.

I posted my request and much to my consternation I received many emails that started, “I want to, but…” Insert whatever you want behind the statement. My heart broke with each one of those emails. In the end, I had to reach out specifically to two of my readers whose writing I really enjoyed and both agreed to write and submit a story. We had our quota.

What I got to thinking about, however, is how often we all say, “I want to, but …” I’ve done it more times than I can count. As I pondered the many times I stepped away from an opportunity, it occurred to me that it would be so much better if we amended that statement to, “I want to, but what if I don’t?”

Like everyone else, I’m juggling tons of things in my own life. I’m a full-time technical writer for an R&D firm, I have my own writing projects, I have a family and two dogs and I’m currently pursuing my MFA in Creative Writing. In order to write my submission, I had to take time away from work and stay up late into the night. I pulled out over 10,000 words in one day and by the time I typed that last word I could barely focus on the screen in front of me.

I’m not trying to pound my chest, I’m only trying to say that this project meant that much to me because whenever I was tempted to say, “I want to, but” I thought about “what if I don’t.” What if all of the authors writing for this anthology said the same thing? Then the anthology doesn’t get written. Then there is no chance of raising any money for a worthy cause. Then a child somewhere has no chance of the scars being inflicted on them at this moment, fading into something they can live with.

Are we changing the world? No, but just maybe we are changing one child’s life. For me, that was worth staying up late, working overtime to meet a deadline at my 9-5 and requesting an extension from my professor to hand in my assignment late.

The anthology is now in its final stages and more and more people are helping out and donating their time. I’m so honored to be a part of this endeavor and can’t wait to see the final product. When that time comes, however, I can tell you up front, that we’ll be reaching out to you and to many others to help us get the word out. We aren’t Random House or Amazon, we have limited reach by ourselves. When that time comes, I hope you’ll all join me in saying, “But what if I don’t?”

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