Fiction Writer
"I’m a little nuts, but, I’m not crazy.
my NEW NOVELLA is here!
read it now on kindle!
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Every single one of these stories, Novellas, and/or Novels would make a great screenplay! Do not miss out! Inquire!
V Le Chenz
Read more V Le Chenz! Also looking for Agent and/or Publisher.
V Le Chenz
Greenwich: Old Money Cold Blood
A Novel, Coming Soon!
Greenwich, Connecticut. The sprawling mansions, the flawless lawns, the kind of place that practically shouts old and new money. But don’t be fooled by the surface. Beneath all that perfection, something rotten pulses through this family, a darkness that’s been there for generations.
This isn’t your average memoir. It’s more like a confession, raw, messy, and edged with desperation. The protagonist, V, grew up middle-class surrounded by luxury. What went on behind closed doors, and in the shadows, is the real story. That’s where the nightmare begins. Strange happenings and violence that make your skin crawl. Madness handed down like an heirloom, nobody walked away untouched.
It’s part family saga, part true crime, all fictionalized, colliding in a way that keeps you uneasy. One moment, you’re reading about an ordinary childhood; the next, you’re trapped inside a horror story. The family’s reputation? Just a mask covering up generations of secrets and cruelty you’d never dream of.
Not quite a secret society, but they were an evil presence hiding in plain sight, woven into Greenwich’s shiny exterior. V can’t escape; it’s all tied up in his family’s past, seeping right into his present. He’s forced to confront a legacy drenched in violence, and a supernatural force that refused to let them go.
Epigraph for Greenwich: Old Money Cold Blood
As the red-hot blood poured from the fresh wound in my neck, I thought, at least this will be quick. I fumbled to apply pressure, but everything was too slick, too hot, too out of control. “Come on! You can do this,” I urged, my trembling fingers pressing against the perfectly formed hole in my neck. I fought to stop the roaring flood, but the strength drained out of me almost instantly. I weakened. My hands slipped. And then I let go, surrendering to the inevitable. As I did, a violent blast of hot blood erupted from my neck and struck the opposite wall, marking it in a way I knew I would never forget.
The sensation was disorienting, a hideous mixture of agony and release, like the unbearable pressure of a full bladder suddenly giving way, explosive and disturbingly euphoric. Pain and relief arrived together, tangled so tightly they were almost impossible to separate. As the room swirled and the edges of it began to darken, I struggled to comprehend the horror of what had just happened. My father had shot me in the neck with my mother’s chrome-plated .357 Magnum. The thought landed heavily, almost too heavily to process. As I swallowed my own blood, my stomach turned. The metallic smell hung thick in the air, dense and unmistakable, filling the room like something alive.
That is when I was jolted awake.
My heart was pounding so hard it felt dangerous, and I woke in immediate horror to find both of my hands wrapped tightly around my throat. Choking myself in my sleep? My pulse kicked even harder as pieces of the dream flashed through my mind in ragged bursts: the gun, the blood, his face twisted with rage. For a few terrible seconds, the dream had not ended. It had followed me back.
Somewhere in that frantic blur between sleep and panic, my body intervened. My hands loosened, the pressure let up, and the blood and air rushed back into me like it had been waiting outside a locked door. And that is the part that still gets under my skin: the dream did not create the danger. It borrowed it. Something real was happening to me, and my sleeping brain translated it into something savage enough to explain it, my father, the gun, the blood. What made me let go, and what if I didn’t? On one level, it made perfect sense. On another, it left me with questions that clawed at my sanity.
new release! READ IT ON KINDLE!
The Spiralizer
The Spiralizer is a slow-burn psychological horror about care taken too far, and the terrifying systems we build when we mistake routine for morality.
Vinny DeCarlo has always believed in order. As a quiet, unremarkable man with an unusual sensitivity to sequence, an ability to sense when events are already in motion, he learns early that attention is dangerous and intervention is futile. What comforts him instead is care: feeding animals, measuring ingredients, controlling temperature, ensuring nothing is wasted.
When tragedy, dissociation, and an inherited gift for inevitability converge, Vinny finds purpose not in stopping harm, but in managing it. What begins as a small, pet-food side business, fresh, refrigerated, trusted, becomes something far darker, hidden in plain sight.
As Vinny’s family inherits not only his work, but his logic, the horror evolves from secrecy to normalization. The town adapts. Customers praise the results. Animals thrive. And no one asks where care ends and consumption begins.
Told with clinical restraint and emotional precision, The Spiralizer is not a story about monsters, it is a story about systems.
About how evil survives not through chaos, but through competence. Not through cruelty, but through indifference. And about how the most frightening thing is not what we hide, but what we learn to live with. This is horror that does not shout.
It waits.
FREE NOVELLA
The Man Who Never Wanted a Dog
He never wanted a dog. But one dog changed everything. In a world obsessed with wagging tails and unconditional love, one man stands apart, haunted by childhood memories of a German Shepherd named Tonto and the emotional wreckage left in its wake. Alienated from his dog-loving circle, he wrestles with grief, identity, and the quiet ache of disconnection. But when illness strikes and life begins to unravel, an unexpected companion arrives: Jett, a scrappy Jack Russell Terrier with a defiant spirit and a gift for chaos. What begins as reluctant caretaking transforms into a reckoning, reminiscent of the struggles in the past, embracing pain, and discovering the possibility of joy.
FREE NOVELLA
Summer of the Carpenter Bee
One summer. One bee. One man’s reckoning with grief, memory, and the fragile beauty of life. Set in the quiet hills of New Hampshire, this deeply personal narrative unfolds like a whispered confession, an elegy for a beloved grandfather and a meditation on the invisible threads that bind us to place, family, and self. When “Gramps” dies, the author’s world fractures. What follows is not just mourning, but a slow unraveling of identity, purpose, and emotional armor.
From the solitude of a back porch, the author reflects on the chaos of summer and the serenity of nature, until a trapped carpenter bee becomes an unexpected catalyst. Its futile struggle, dignified and desperate, mirrors his own. In that moment, compassion collides with indifference, and buried sorrow rises to the surface.
Through vivid memories of Gramps’ wartime resilience and quiet wisdom, and tender observations of his grandson’s empathy, the author begins to stitch together a new understanding of legacy. This is a story about the weight of small things, a bee trap, a porch chair, a fleeting summer breeze, and how they carry our deepest truths. For readers drawn to lyrical storytelling, emotional vulnerability, and the quiet power of reflection, this book offers a haunting, hopeful journey into what it means to grieve, to love, and to live with intention.
FREE NOVELLA
Baked Fresh Daily
Hotboxed at ten. Hooked on chaos. A brutally honest coming-of-age in the haze of the ’70s and ’80s.
It’s Glenville, 1977. The windows are up, the summer heat is suffocating, and ten-year-old V is riding in the back of a car thick with marijuana smoke. That moment, equal parts absurd and formative, marks the beginning of a childhood steeped in contact highs, dysfunctional family dynamics, and a search for clarity in a world that rarely offered it.
This candid memoir pulls no punches. From awkward crushes and hockey skates to missed chances and musical obsessions, V recounts a youth shaped by the haze of cannabis and the emotional fog of unreliable parenting.
With sharp wit and unflinching vulnerability, he explores how addiction, identity, and longing collided in the smoke-filled rooms of his adolescence, and how those early experiences echoed into adulthood through workplace camaraderie, romantic misfires, and moments of unexpected grace.
For readers who appreciate memoirs that are raw, reflective, and darkly funny, this is a story of growing up stoned, emotionally and literally, and finding meaning in the madness, reminiscent of the impactful novellas that capture the essence of a generation.
FREE NOVELLA
Burned Bridges and Backroads
He burned bridges before he knew how to build them. This is the story of what survived.
In this brutally honest, darkly funny memoir, one man traces the wreckage of his past, from friend burns and failed relationships to couch surfing and career misfires, and the long, winding road to redemption. Emotionally detached and socially self-sabotaging, he spent decades running from connection, haunted by a childhood shaped by abandonment and mistrust.
Growing up as a misfit in a working-class neighborhood, then dropped into a world of privilege, he never quite belonged anywhere. Bullied, awkward, and always on the fringe, he navigated adolescence with a soundtrack of ’70s rock, bad fashion, and quiet defiance. College and early adulthood brought more chaos: impulsive choices, broken hearts, and a dream-chasing stint in California’s entertainment scene that ended in burnout and regret.
Then came New Hampshire, after a decade of drift, and a move for love that didn’t last. But somewhere in the wreckage, he found her: a woman who shattered his rigid expectations and became the anchor he never knew he needed. With her came family, purpose, and a chance to rewrite the story.
"Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent”
Calvin Coolidge