i somehow forgot to mention.

some time ago, i submitted a horror story for an upcoming halloween anthology taking place in salem. the story’s called ‘let’s kill her‘ and they just accepted it to be published in the book. more details to come. i’ve put an excerpt of it here before, i just don’t want to dig for it. no need to read any further if you’ve already read it before, it’s the same excerpt. also, please tell me to commit to sleeping more.

i am still working on a novel. 30k isn’t a bad word count for how little time i have to truly get into the mood and let go, and just write and write. it’s a slow process. i am waiting to get my rejections from the reviews i’ve submitted to before publishing my poetry book. it’s nothing that anybody hasn’t read on my blog or on sudden denouement  already, perhaps only a few unpublished pieces.

and isn’t it the biggest curse of the creative to find ourselves in stagnate ruts and have no idea how we got there? the stars align for me sometimes, or maybe it’s all ritualistic for me to feel driven. although, i am interrupted often by screaming, or MAMA, MAMA, which doesn’t help my already delicate concentration♡ so much to do, so little time. lately, it seems anything can put me in quicksand. the reason i was so disappointed in the movie a quiet passion, was not only because it royally sucked (my cousin rachel was much, MUCH better, yet strangely has a lower rating? i have a thing for period pieces.)  but because i can relate to the isolation that emily dickinson gladly, and at times perhaps not so gladly, placed herself in. it became a bad habit of mine to isolate myself when i was staying in florida. i’ve moved away from that awful place of course since february, having too much of my genes be comforted by the cold to ever stay where i was so lost in the constant heat. even new orleans isn’t as bad. i could sip absinthe happily in the pirates alley all day and get beignets when my stomach went sour, but i couldn’t wait to breathe somewhere that wasn’t florida. the habit has carried over to where i live now, somewhere that makes some semblance of sense,  but i’m slowly working on it. the only place i really go is the gym, and everyone leaves you alone there. best place ever. i guess i’m a model introvert who can speak to people easily, but prefers peace. not that i get any with twins. especially now that one of them talks. it’s so fucking cute.

anyway, i was getting at admitting that i am nervous as fuck to go to this book release event that’s coming up. the other book i’m in, well, that my poem is in, has a release event. other poets are reading their work live. i already told them i won’t be doing that, but will be very, very happily attending. by happily i mean anxiously, because it’s going to be quite a crowd. so back to the excerpt.

‘let’s kill her’ is a short story about a murder that takes place halloween morning, and is avenged on halloween night.

Continue reading “i somehow forgot to mention.”

‘ghost stories’ anthology

i am working on two stories for this anthology, actually. one is a collaboration, and one is by only me. i’m in the editing process of this one, having completed it some weeks ago. i’ll be finishing up editing it by tonight (i hope) and sending it in. we’ll see what happens; i’ll find out in august or september.

meanwhile, i’ve been working on my own full-length novel (top secret) and gathering content for my poem book. and feeling somewhat out-of-body.

here’s an excerpt of one of the ghost story’s i’m submitting to a small publication, it’s called “those nocturnal hours

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a virgo unsurprisingly complaining, a link to ‘across lots’ & an excerpt from “let’s kill her.”

so my life has been insane. how fitting, since i am too. or at least that’s what they say.
has been? is. currently and always. in some ways and in many.
i have an urge to pour out an intensely personal blog post, but i’m too exhausted or afraid. i live far too much in my own mind, and although typing makes it easier to get it all out, lately it’s hard for me to talk about anything.
but hey, remember how i’ve mentioned that i was working on another short horror story for an indie anthology? finished and submitted. we’ll see what happens.
speaking of anthologies, i’m going to be receiving my physical copy of “the mountain pass”, the other indie anthology i wrote ‘across lots’ for sometime soon. it’s available, along with the sample, on the publishers website and on amazon kindle. my story is actually the first one in the book, so you can read most of it in the sample on their website, but if you want to read the entire thing (my story, not the whole book), go to the sample on amazon. 😉 there’s a little bit of the second story in there as well from another writer. i can’t wait to read all the other stories in it.
i’ll be working on my own novel, which i will painstakingly attempt to publish at a bigger house, and self-publishing my poetry book onward. any poem i write for the book will be put on my blog or at sudden denouement anyway. the book isn’t intended to be all original work.
maybe i’ll put together a few other stories for indie places if i have time.
i still need to smash the remaining entries of the horseman into one post… soon.
without further ado, here’s an excerpt of what i’ve sent to an anthology call asking for stories taking place on halloween, in the same city (salem) in different decades. i chose 1973. a few years after the manson murders.

let’s kill her

Continue reading “a virgo unsurprisingly complaining, a link to ‘across lots’ & an excerpt from “let’s kill her.””

she reluctantly pastes together a short story for a submission

before growing too attached to the imagery, beware that this is a post-mortem photograph. unsurprisingly, it’s from the victorian era, which readily embraced the miry arms of feeble death, but with an identical, modern anxiety that has spanned all of mans clumsy life, for richer or for poorer. we are life and we’re married to death. and death does appear so mediocre, we see it peeking by hospital beds and sitting on chests, waiting for blood tests in filthy chairs, in the black eyes of the unforgettable.

with that sinking knowledge, her woeful expression might make more sense. a candle in a nightmare room. the swollen eyes don’t portray the living love of a mother employed full-time to her rosy babe, but rather the rip that love has made. a tear that can’t be seamed. the hand that has reached inside of her, through her, and took something out. something that will always be missing. her face is a funeral banner for eternal loss. as a mother, my heart collapses for her.

i use this photograph as a reference point for the short story i’m attempting to put together for an anthology that a small publishing company is looking for. i don’t even remember how i found out about it. it’s a strange concept of a ‘mountain pass’ cowboy/western and honestly, not one i’d usually think to contribute to (i love westerns, but mountain passes?)  then i remembered the above photograph, a few paragraphs came to me. i’ve decided to post a little bit of it here. because it’ll either be rejected (like all of my work.) and because maybe it’ll shove me into finishing it.

ACROSS LOTS – (excerpt)

Continue reading “she reluctantly pastes together a short story for a submission”