Two Pieces Published

The Woven Tale Press is an "eclectic mix from the creative web," an electronic 'zine that culls and curates many examples of online artistic endeavour, from poetry to photography to painting to flash fiction, and beyond. The magazine's design is visually appealing and their staff have a keen eye for the off-beat, the striking, and the quirky, so for all these reasons and more, I am genuinely flattered that they featured not one but two of my flash fiction pieces in their May issue ("Safety Deposit" and "Addiction"). Very kind of them. But don't just read my own small contributions; also check out Jo-Anne Teal's poignant writing in that same edition, and many more exemplary and intriguing offerings. Click on the widget below to read the whole thing.

Emily

Via Jo-Anne Teal, I happened to catch a short fiction challenge featured on Laura Jamez's blog, Office Mango. I was too late to enter it, but I was inspired to write an unpleasant little flash fiction piece based upon the photo of a thrift store doll, and I offer it here. Definitely going to revisit Laura's blog, though.

Since flash fiction seems to be all I have time to write these days, I figure it had better be good. Or at least have some kind of emotional heft, kick like a short-lived mule on a sunbaked, fly-swarm August afternoon. Oddly enough I kept adding words, thinking I must be below the two hundred minimum. When I finally checked the word count, it was actually dead on the maximum of three hundred! Weird. I usually have nothing but difficulty with word counts, so this made me think it was an omen and I'd gotten something right for once.

Anyway, try not to hate me for the content of this dark little tale. It doesn't come from me; I'm merely the pipeline not the well. Or something.

Emily

If it hapens agen, this is what I will do to my baby brother. Mommy was about to make me my favrite milkshake—banana and strawbry—when the sound of my brother wailing like he'd been locked in a room full of bees came from upstares.

While Mommy left the ice cream and fruit on the kitchen counter and went to check on him, I went to my room, got out my doll, Emily, took all its stupid cloths off and did this to its leg and its arm. I will do it to Carl next time. Break one leg and pop out one sholder. I saw on a hospital show my daddy was watching how babies sholders are easy to… I can't remember the right word. Begins with a "D." But I know it means to pop it out because it hapened at preschool when Maddy yanked Sophie's arm out of its sock-it and that's what I heard a teacher say: "it just popped out." It was a aks-i-dent, they said. 

I love my brother and he's very cute but he doesn't come first; I came first, and he needs to lern that. If he lerns it, we'll be a good brother and sister, very hapy in are famly to-gether. But if he ever stops anything good hapening to me agen, this will be how it starts untill he lerns. Not only that but I'll make shore I do it at the bottom of the stares so it looks like he felled. May be give him a few bruses first. Like a aks-i-dent. 

Looking at my doll with that leg all sticking out and busted makes me wonder if it would make a sound like when Daddy pulls the leg off from the thanksgiven turkey. Gess I'll find out.

Writers Helping Writers Helping Others

Yes, I know. It's been a while. Quiet down. I'm here now, aren't I? Anyway, I have a couple of pimping promotional duties to attend to, awkwardly constructed blog post title notwithstanding.

First off, the indefatigable Morgen Bailey featured me in her latest author spotlight, and for her pains received a volley of flagrant, barefaced lies. I really shouldn't be allowed out. You don't have to read it. Not only do you get a very shady bio, but you get my muddled, opinionated drivel about genre versus literary, a completely inessential way to pass this Fourth of July.

Coincidentally, I am (we are) also featured on the website RABMAD, which is a handy acronym for Read A Book, Make A Difference. The site showcases writers whose books contribute in some way to a cause or charity, which is why they graciously chose to feature Seasons. Since there are four authors, none of whom is predominant (even the order on the book's cover is not only chronological but also alphabetical, whether you use first or last names), RABMAD will feature each one individually when they collate all the info.

Well, that's it, I think. Leaves me with a last big shoutout to everyone (like Morgen Bailey and Rob Guthrie) who selflessly promotes writers on their websites. Your tireless work is appreciated even during those fraught moments we forget to say thank you.

Seasons Now Published

If there were such a thing as a Writer Genie, I'd only have one wish to ask of it: please make me more prolific. Actually, that's not true. Since childhood, I've urged every character in every tale to ever feature the standard three wishes to simply ask for an infinite number of wishes, but to no avail. Why doesn't anyone ever think of that?

Ha. But anyway, where was I? Oh right. Prolific. You've heard the phrase "verbal diarrhea," right? Well, I suffer from the polar opposite. Consonantal constipation. In short, I need a lexicographic laxative.

But today, thanks to the efforts of some fine colleagues, I and those very same compadres have (to mercifully change the metaphor) added a few more blocks of ice to the glacially expanding edifice of our written output. The story behind Seasons is as serendipitous as the stories within Seasons, if that makes sense. At some point last September, a story about a troubled young woman wrestling with self-destructive impulses appeared to me almost unbidden. No doubt it emerged from a subconscious filled with the real life horror stories of young people who are so often dealt a cruel and arbitrary hand before they're even born. "Summer Long" is a difficult character study, dark and anxious and fearful. But I think it said what I'd needed to say. Then a chance exchange in the comments section (you can read how it all unfolded here) resulted in a chain reaction in which Edward Lorn, JD Mader and Jo-Anne Teal each began to add a new, related story, a season at a time, until we ended up with this delicately balanced quartet of tales poised between oblivion and redemption.

And now, you can buy the collected stories for an insanely low price, and better yet, know that 100 percent of the royalties will go to the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Yeah, the four of us won't see a single penny. (Which is good, as half the authors here are Canadian and pennies are now outlawed in Canada. It's true.)