some months ago, i wrote a poem for an anthology chiefly interested in salem history (no, not this one!) and it was accepted for publication. it’ll be featured in the upcoming book named above. you can find more details about it [HERE]. that will apparate you to a pre-order page, but you can read the gist of the atmosphere of the book. and yes, i did just use a harry potter term.
i am so fucking delighted about being in that book. i love salem. since one of my best bitches lives not far from there, i’ve gone plenty of times. salem also has the best indian restaurant EVER IN THE GALAXY (besides the one in california i used to frequent in my past life.) it’s called passage to india, and if you’re ever in town, go.
i’ve also always been fascinated with the history of the place, which should come as no surprise considering i adore most all things macabre, relating to behavioral psychology or criminal as a bonus, mysterious and wretched in history.
the title was inspired by the username of a past writing partner of mine who i loved working with, who is one of the best writers i’ve ever met. she used to write as a witch and i as a magician in our stories. she knows who she is. although, she may never read this.
here’s a small excerpt:
She is the ratty crone who dwells in tears
intruding up the mildew walls of sick-dreams,
like howling veins bulging for a snake-bite
shuddering to the open grin of a white moon
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.””
It was there I felt an elemental shimmer wafting down, twirling down the clattered network of algae-clothed river stone, the molten hues of the unearthly chant. Hand-in-hand they harnessed three on the curled tongue of watery twilight, a hatched maiden circlet of prancing untamed snake-hair, delirious, and drifting over scratched tree-bitten hips by bark-teeth. All wailing midnight colors swooned and surmounted here in the night-spell, disorderly and bare as first birth, bells on their profane ankle bones, sacred toes manic in the old gods organic gems, varnished in oil and star blood.
I know them from the heart-stopping slip in my dreams, the air-stealing haunt they take on barren wombs, open tombs, the purple iris of the childless woman. The listening eyes in the quiet dark, nails filthy following the aeons placental scent. Throned Ancestress. Buried Vestal. Burned Witch.
I taste their hazy names like fire and dirt, watching, wishing to suffuse and collide. I am cowed by the inheritance of my own intrinsic power. Intimidated by their peace and embers.
Someday they will know my hellfire wish. I’ll tell them with a billowing tongue.
words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.