New Prints and Books Coming Soon

This website is an evolving  work so hang in here with me. Watch for new art and new prints available soon. There will also be new stories and books coming out in the next few weeks that will be available on all the e-book sites like Kindle and Nook. 

New Short Story

Just published an e-book short story which isnow available on Amazon Kindle titled "The Price of Darkness".  Here is the cover jacket overview...

There are thousands of caves discovered and recorded in the world. Each is unique and has privileged secrets. Thousands more unknown and unexplored caves have yet to reveal their own mysteries. Michael Lasiter lived to find and explore caves. He would do anything to have the chance to disappear beneath the earth into chambers beyond the reach of daylight. But what price is too much to pay to experience the mysterious and mystical worlds that lay hidden in the darkness?  

Mike and his fellow friend and caver, Byron, face that question when they plan a weekend outing to explore a new cave in the mountains ofColorado.

Doug as a writer

Doug as a Writer:

The artist is also a writer.
I write a variety of things including adventure and historical novels, short stories and articles for
various publications. One of the most interesting things i do is write family histories for clients.
Everybody has a story but few of us ever get around to putting in down on paper so future generations
can share in our live experiences. It has been fun to take family history and make a story out of it for
others to enjoy and find a connection with.

I also write blogs and articles for clients that never seem to have time to make their web presence as
strong as it needs to be for the search engines to notice. I write about almost everything imaginable
including aviation, hunting/fishing, travel, and “How to,” but shy away from technical writing.
Some of my work can be found on Amazon Kindle.

This is a piece from my book “ Love of Life”:

SUNSET OF LOVE

 

In the evenings, they would often go out onto the old wooden porch. He in his wooden rocker, she
in a old overstuffed chair that had long since lost it’s place in the living room. He would smoke his
pipe and doze, she would read of knit as her mood dictated. On this evening, she looked up from her
book, “Look at that wonderful sunset”.

He roused himself and leaned forward for a better view. After a moment he said, “Describe it to me,
Honey. My eyes are not what they used to be.”

And so she told him of the clouds, how they billowed and swept across the sky. Of the God’s light
rays that reached out from behind the clouds and stretched like great fingers to the heavens and
radiated downward throwing their golden light down to the hills across the trees and onto the stream,
turning it into a golden ribbon winding to the horizon. She talked of the colors, of the blues and
purples, and finially of the brilliance of the reds and oranges…

After awhile he said, “Thank you Honey, I can see it now”

She looked at him, smiled and put her hand in his. They sat there thus as the stars winked on one by
one until the chilly fingers of the moonlight drove them inside where they wrapped themselves in the
blanket of love that had kept them warm for these last fifty some odd years….

 

Here is an exert from the first chapter in a novel about aviation:

Winds of Change

He knew it was going to be close. He had been in tight situations before but this time was different.
Things were happening at an accelerated pace. The canyon walls were rapidly closing in from both
sides. He had flown into a blind canyon and now he had no choice. The little plane could never climb
fast enough to clear the jagged ridgeline hundreds of feet above him. The only hope was to do a hard
wingover to the left and hope he could recover and reverse course before the plane buried itself in the
surrounding landscape. He threw the throttle full forward and at the same time pulled back hard on the
control column, forcing the aircraft into a steep climb , the 120 horse Lycoming engine desperately
straining to pull the plane into a vertical accent. The airspeed dropped off swiftly as gravity and
friction took its toll. Just as the stall-warning horn went off, he turned the yoke hard to the left and put
in full left rudder while at the same time pulling the throttle to full idle. The plane abruptly turned in a
pivot around the left wing and in less than five seconds was diving hard and gaining speed as it hurtled
toward the ground below. He pulled back gently but firmly on the control column and again banked
sharply to the left to avoid the steep wall of the canyon that had moments before been on his right
wingtip. The maneuver had reversed his course but there was precious little room left to clear the
towering heights that yet surrounded him. The canyon was twisting to his left and he banked even
harder, still holding firm backpressure to arrest the decent without tearing the wings off. The plane
was not designated as an acrobatic aircraft but he had flown it many hours and knew how to get the
most out of it without stressing it beyond the parameters of safety. Only now the situation was
deteriorating rapidly. There was no time to think, analyze, or evaluate. He could only react and let
instinct and experience take control of his destiny. The canyon wall was filling his windscreen. He
could see the every detail as it sped toward him at over 100 miles and hour. In one last decisive effort
he threw the throttle full forward and stood the plane nearly on its side in a desperate attempt to save
himself and the plane from the inevitable. It was too little and too late. He grimaced as the right
wingtip sheared into the canyon wall. A millisecond later the windscreen too buried itself in the
canyon wall and the world went dark.

Grinning, he leveled out, pulled back gently and let the plane find its way out through the other side of
the small fluffy cloud that had moments before been his canyon wall. As he burst out into the brilliant
sunlight of a beautiful spring day on the Colorado front range, he could not help but marvel at the
beauty that surrounded him. At 7000 feet above sea level, the Eastern plains streaked out for miles
before him in flat expanses of ranchland and small farms. He often came out here and practiced this
game of cat and mouse with the clouds. It was rare that they were configured in a way that let him
practice in relative safety. They had to be at 7000 to 8000 feet with no cloud layers above or below
and be scattered so that there was no danger of losing track of the actual ground. It would not be good
to be trapped above a solid cloud layer unless you were rated at instrument flying. He wasn’t.

Of course what he was doing was against the Federal Aviation Regulations. There were strict
limitations on how close you could fly to any clouds without proper clearance. There was some reason
for the caution on Feds part. Can’t have folks randomly cruising the skies, punching holes in clouds
and running into each other in the middle of some fluffy playmate. But out here, the skies were big
and the planes were few. Even fewer now than ever, thanks to overbearing FAA regulations and
inflated prices for the entire industry. The number of general aviation airports and pilot schools had
dropped drastically since 911. The number of young people even interested in flying was far below
what he would have ever imagined.

He lived to fly. Always had. Always would. It was beyond his imagination that anybody who had any
remote chance to fly would not leap at the opportunity. When he was eight, he had strapped, taped
and wired “wings” on his little red wagon, lugged the entire craft to the top of the barn roof and with

visions of gliding over the farmyard stuck firmly in his mind, launched himself into the family history
books. Unfortunately not as a pilot.

He had flown numerous planes since but he never got over the thrill of feeling the magic of flight
unfold every time he lifted off into the skies. Any excuse was a good excuse to fly. He had come out
here today to practice his skills and just plain have fun. It was a great way to hone his skills and learn
the limitations of man and machine. If you screwed up here, only the clouds were affected. Now, after
two hours of twisting and turning through endless corridors of challenging canyons, it was time to turn
back home.

Reluctantly he banked the plane in a gentle turn to the West. The view was gorgeous. The mountains
were partly obscured by the scattered clouds but it was an otherwise unobstructed view of the splendor
of the Colorado Front Range. He could see all the way North to Cheyenne. Pikes Peak was clearly
visible to the South. He loved moments like this and breathed a prayer of thanks for being able to
share the gift of flight.

As he approached the airport, he was already looking forward to tomorrow. He was scheduled to fly
a local corporate exec and two of his staff members to Jackson Hole. His friend Todd had arranged
the trip. Something about an important meeting with a rep from Japan who was a major player in the
company. Somehow the guy was too “busy” to fly to Denver, so the guys in Boulder were supposed to
do whatever it took to get to him on his time schedule. The only commercial flight scheduled to make
the trip tomorrow was booked so……“When you have the gold, you make the rules!” seemed to hold
true in this case. In spite of the cost factor, he had been hired to make sure they arrived as planned at
the Wyoming rendezvous. CONTINUED: