Welcome to the official page of Douglas B. Wimmer
Don't buy into the innumerable other sites claiming to be the one and only official website. They are lying. This one is the only real one. Sure, you may find some fan sites or other places where they've begun to worship the words from my laptop like they were new additions to sacred texts, and that's fine. However, if you'd like to get your DBW news straight from the horse's mouth, then you've arrived at the right place.
What will you find here?
You'll find short synopses and ideas for works I am... well... working on. So if you're wondering about my longer, full length writing, then this place is where you'll want to head.
You'll also stumble across stories from my past and childhood as well as random things that happen to me on a daily basis. Rather than a bio that says how awesome I am, you can read through these and find out for yourself how awesome (or unawesome) I am truly am. You'll also find short writings from either college coursework or from my own admittedly scattershot brain that may entertain, enlighten, or even cause you to laugh a bit. You'll find humor, horror, heartbreak, celebrations and interpretations of life written on these pages.
In essence, this is where you'll find out about me, my brain, and how they work or don't work well together. So poke around and see if you find something you like. If you'd like to contact me directly for a freelance request or to give me a job that makes me rich beyond my wildest dreams, then by all means contact me here.
I also offer editing services for fellow writers and independent authors. As important as it is to be able to self-edit, there comes a point when someone else has to lend an eye to your work to really work out the kinks. I can help you do that.
Most RECENT POST
It was nearing midnight on a cool Arizona night in February when I pulled my old drop-top Chrysler over to the side of the quiet Gilbert street. Jared and Alex stayed in the car while I shifted into park and popped open the door, screwdriver in hand. I moved to the back of the car, looking around the area to make sure we weren’t being watched, then dropped down to my haunches and detached the license plate, throwing it into the trunk.
I was too young to remember why the neighbor boys were in charge of watching me for the day. What I do remember are the swear words that they threw out when they took me to their house to pick up something they needed. I hadn’t heard most of them before but the ones I did know I knew weren’t nice. I’d have gotten my mouth soaped if I used any of them.
I have heard that if someone is allergic to bees, a sting can be fatal. I’ve never been tested for bee allergies. So, when I felt the hot, stealthy needle of pain pierce my forearm while sitting around a campfire a couple of weeks ago, my immediate reaction was to mash the crap out of it with my other hand to kill it.
See, my sleeve was rolled down at the time. Buttoned even. I did not see a bee/wasp/rusty needle enter my shirt from the collar or the sleeve. Didn’t feel it on my arm at all until it violated my skin barrier and left its needle in the center of a puffy red mass of itchy agony. Turns out I’m not allergic to bees but at the moment I was stung, I didn’t know I wasn’t.