Sad City

 

I’m more than excited to have my essay Sad City published by the wonderful Ginger Collect lit mag. A big thank you to Editors Lauren E. Hamm and Patrick S. Johnson for giving my piece a cool home.

I was emailed last night with their acceptance and it was published today, a rare occurrence but a welcomed one. So many talented writers in this issue, give it some eyeballs!

This story was a bit embarrassing to write about, but enough time has elapsed that I feel more comfortable writing about it. I also have another nonfiction piece coming out in November.

You can read my essay here

 

 

 

Advertisements

Songs in a Dumpster Fire

 

Well, we have deadly earthquakes and massive hurricanes and climate change deniers and white supremacists carrying torches and a bigoted buffoon in the oval office. What a time to be alive! Drink it up.

I don’t have anything to say with this post, just wanted to link some tunes that I’ve been listening to recently. On the writing front, I have an essay coming out in November and a flash piece getting published in October. I pretty much hate everything I write, but that essay feels like it’s the best thing I’ve written in months. I’m proud of it.

I am now taking three drugs to combat the depression. I’ve never been this committed to pharmaceuticals. Are they working? I thought so three weeks ago, but now I feel a bit heavy again. It’s frustrating, and it touches everything in my life. I’m still hopeful, though. It takes time when you add new drugs to your system. I’ve hopped back on the reframing train to soften the blow of the dark hammer. It helps.

Anyway, get out your french press and make a pot of medium roast coffee. Make sure you purchase your beans locally and only use a burr grinder. Poetry in a cup.

Kick it.

 

 

 

 

 

zoom, click, save

 

My new story zoom, click, save is live over at a really badass lit mag called Occulum. This journal is the brainchild of Arielle Tipa. A huge thank you to her for giving my tale a cool, weird home. Also, her Twitter feed is the bee’s knees. She’s hilarious, intelligent, and dark in a good and endearing way.

You can read my goofy story here

 

 

 

Someday Street

Photo by David J. Thompson

 

Well, I am beyond thrilled that my story Someday Street was chosen as the winner of the second round of the Midwestern Gothic Summer 2017 Flash Fiction Series. You had to incorporate the prompt above and your story had to be under 500 words. A huge thank you to all the staff at Midwestern Gothic. This contest helped me break free from a lengthy bout of writer’s block.

I tend to get sentimental and corny when I find some success with my writing. Maybe it’s a symptom of getting old. But this one means so much to me because last year I was too intimidated by the quality of stories they routinely published that I didn’t even submit anything. I didn’t think I possessed the talent required to compete alongside the more accomplished writers. But this year I realized I had nothing to lose besides my fragile confidence, pride, and ego. Sometimes you have to go all-in with your writing regardless of any potential failure. A chip, a chair, and prayer, the mantra of a degenerate gambler. Or a neurotic writer of flash fiction.

You can read the tragically beautiful runner-up story by Vahid Arefi here

You can read my winning story here

 

 

 

 

 

The Waste of Man

 

 

The first nonfiction piece I’ve written in forever, The Waste of Man, is live over at the hip lit mag Digging Through the Fat. A gigantic thank you to Gessy Alvarez for accepting and publishing my essay.

It can be rather difficult to write about the past, to revisit those dark, garbage-filled crevasses in my mind, but most times the only way to slay the past is to confront the past. Maybe I’d call it a kind of prose therapy.

 

You can read my essay here

 

 

 

A Dying Fire

 

I’m thrilled to once again have a story published by the #FlashFlood. Today is National Flash Fiction Day and to celebrate, 144 stories from across the globe were selected to appear on their site every 10 minutes for 24 hours. My tiny story is called A DyingFire. The only requirement was that your tale had to be under 500 words. Any subject allowed. So many writers I’ve either met on social media or admired from afar participated this year. It’s truly an honor to be published alongside all of them.

In a time when it feels as though the bigoted lunatic fringe is winning, and in some ways they probably are, it’s wise to disengage from the endless hateful rhetoric and engage with art and kindness and empathy and hope. Well, at least for a day. Let the talent, passion, and imagination of others transport you to a place that has no negativity, no mental pollution. Reading a story is like going for walk. At the end, you feel satiated and refreshed. Or I do. I used to roll my eyes a bit when my former therapist urged me to walk/exercise. She was emphatic when stating that it could ease the symptoms of depression. She was right. (Thanks, JJ.) Anyway, give all these tales your eyeballs. Prose loves eyeballs. Writers love eyeballs.

You can read my story here

You can read all the stories here

 

Let’s go back in time with my tune selections for this post, yes?