eighty two

Got another acceptance today from a place i’ve been trying to get into for months. Bartelby and Snopes, which is one of the coolest places around, i think. Hard to get into, too, with only an 11% acceptance rate, which makes it the hardest publication i’ve yet to get into. I’ve added a link to the side, as well as two more to the other places i received acceptances from this weekend. An awesome weekend for my writerly aspirations and, really, just a great weekend in general. Just got my teaching abroad certification, so in the coming months i’ll be looking for a job overseas, which will, of course, intertwine with a life i will soon be leading abroad. Again.

Now spring break has officially begun and i feel all kinds of awesome.

Adding a song i quite love at the minute, though it really doesn’t suit the gorgeous weather or my beatific mood. Still, wait for the sun to set and give this a listen, maybe with a bit of love in your heart. Or heartbreak.

Take care, Star Child.

eighty one

Got an acceptance today. Just about a half hour ago, really. It’ll be out in July, which is forever from now.

I’ve been published in January, February, thrice in March [one still to come], and, because of this, i’ve decided to get published each month [as if i really decide these things]. So, gotta get one in for April, which will hopefully be one of these buddies floating around waiting for responses. Then May and June. July’s taken care of. Anything after that is to be determined.

Anyway, english courses end tomorrow and spring break proper begins.

It’s gonna be a good week.

seventy nine

Acceptance in the mail today. The e-mail, i mean, so i should have a story out soonishly. My Steve Erickson books came in the mail today, which has motivated me to finish this Murakami novel i’m working on. Will probably be all done with Erickson by the end of spring break. The man inspires me to an insane degree. Writes the most haunting and beatific prose anywhere.

I’m still exhausted.

seventy eight

Today is dedicated to my friend, Chris Deal, who is a fantastic writer. His collection of microfiction, Cienfuegos, is now available at Brown Paper Publishing [who now have a link over on the right side]. I’ve not yet read all of it, but, from what i have read of the collection, and what i’ve read of Chris’ beforehand, i can tell you that’s great and wholly worth the $5 they’re asking. Yeah, $5 for a book, which is so very cool because it’s worth every penny.

Cover art there. Now, how about some praise from some other great writers about this collection.

‘Prose haikus, fiction bullets, one-sentences novels, two fingers of story neat, no chaser . . . I don’t know what to call these, really. But I want more.’

Stephen Graham Jones

If you know me, you know Dr Jones is one of my heroes, one of my favorite writers. So this is some heavy praise as far as I’m concerned.

‘These stories render emotion in shades of stark gray. Like sculptures, Deal subtracts from his Cienfuegos superfluous elements, leaving a base from which the reader is allowed to interpret, perhaps participate in, his characters’ disjointed lives. Each word hints at two others; each line implies a life; each brief fiction describes a world.’

Caleb J Ross

Caleb’s a friend and a man I consider a mentor of mine. Did a lot to help me figure out who i am as a writer and the stories i want to tell. He has a novel coming out later this year, i think. I’ll make a post about that when i know more or when time gets closer. Also, his chapbook, Charactered Pieces, came out some time ago. He was kind enough to send me a signed copy. It’s a fantastic collection of stories that will really move you and I encourage you to pick this up as well, since you’ll be buying things anyway.

In Cienfugeos, Chris Deal writes about solitude, loss, and the cold certainty of death, a chill running over you as the stories unfold, and then, he drops you into a furnace of hate and mysticism, the short, fractured stories abruptly over with nothing left but an echo.  These are all in the same world, in different worlds, in the mirrored reflection of places that seem familiar, and yet, are not at all what you thought you knew, unexpected and piercing.  You could call this a collection of flash fiction, and that would be correct if you meant blinding white light, a crack of violent thunder, and the distant shrieks of babies crying, mothers unsettled and father frowning, arms crossed in defiance.  These are moments in time, a snatch of conversation, the last visions of dented souls bound for other places.  His work is visceral, haunting and always steeped in history, ancient tales made new. This is the tip of the iceberg in so many ways.

Richard Thomas

I already made mention of Richard Thomas’ novel, Transubstantiate, which comes out this summer some posts ago [and will bring it up again when it’s ready to buy]. Again, a great writer and, like Caleb, someone i consider a mentor and friend.

I don’t know how much more i can do to get you to buy this book, but i hope you do. You know, if you like to read. And even if you don’t, each story is about 100 words, and you should at least be able to stay focused for that long, yeah?

seventy seven

My fate will be decided in two hours. Hopefully i won’t need to take a summer class, and that’s what i’m pushing for. I’m done with college for the here and now and i demand my degree on time.

The weather’s still wondrous and i can smile easy. Mother’s trying to be nice to make up for other things. Today’s all right.

seventy six

The days grow long and it does my soul good, though i’m still so utterly exhausted that i can barely think straight. The weariness of the body affects and takes hold of the mind and i’m dragging my feet once nightfall hits. The days of heaven have me lightfooted and smiling, but the sundowns shake me by the shoulders back into the earth where i sit with my head betwixt my knees.

I think i’m lonely. Not that lonely yet, but it’s the dawning of spring and i realise, once more, that i’m a bit alone in the world with the rest of the humans.