Tuesday, January 1, 2013

"Strikethrough" Nominated for "Story of the Year: All Genres"

Extremely proud to announce that my short story, Strikethrough, has been nominated for "Short Story of the Year: All Genres" at Preditors and Editors.

The award is a reader's poll, and the voting is live from now until January 14th.  You can vote here.

It was a great writing year for me, and this nomination was just a bit more icing on the cake, and any support you can offer would be much appreciated.


Friday, December 21, 2012

Guest Blog on Project Middle Grade Mayhem

Very excited to announce that I have a guest blog up at Project Middle Grade Mayhem, concerning authentic writing in Middle School classrooms.  Please check it out today!  

Also, a big thanks to Eden Unger Bowditch, author of The Atomic Weight of Secrets: The Arrival of the Mysterious Men in Black, for a very kind introduction.

Here's the link:

Monday, September 24, 2012

Strikethrough is now a Podcast!

My Short Story, "Strikethrough" is now a featured podcast on Every Day Fiction. Folly Blaine did a wonderful job on the story, and needless to say, I'm a proud papa right now. Please comment, and most importantly, rate the podcast when you get a chance, and if you haven't commented or rated the story itself, feel free to do that as well! 



Thursday, August 16, 2012

The Sorcerer's Apprentice

            For Chard

The brooms are gathering their water buckets again,
the froth of suds sloshing over the hooper's work
and dripping onto the perilous stairs.

I'll try not to be frantic this time,
running around in my foolishly flapping robes
and adjusting the ill-fitting hat over my ridiculous ears.  

The water is pouring from the parapets now,
like the veiled threats and childish aggression
wielded in an unknown and undeserved place,
while you summoned majestic goshawks
and women drawn from flames.  

You spoke with me calmly then,
delicately placating my naive assumptions,
never raising your voice,
maintaining the control over yourself that amazed me so.

And now,
I'm on my own again,
desperate to do anything other than destroy
the castle you left for me,
handing me the keys and this robe,
and even leaving the hat for me to find,
a final chance to salvage something
from the gifts you gave so freely.  

When I see you again,
still damp from my imperfect art,
I will embrace you,
show you the wilting bouquet I wrestled from my hat,
the absolute lack of visible bunnies,
smile like a mouse,
and thank you. 

Friday, July 20, 2012

First Encounter

Waves bob into peaks and points
this October afternoon,
and beneath is harder sand.
Gulls swoop
the cold bay’s jetties,
dropping littlenecks to break them apart,
to feed before winter.

Concrete bleached gray, the duneside parking lot
is windswept and empty, except for
rustling clothes, cold jeans
against motionless legs rooted in docksiders. 
Hands closed in sweaty fists, pockets
of warmth against the chill.

You might read pain, an unnamed sadness.
A deteriorating
battleship rusts to ribs eight miles away.
We pushed the Indians
from here and out, but I am comforted,
these stories without “I”, life without me,
triumphs in off-

Friday, July 13, 2012

Flash Fiction Chronicles Interview

I was floored to see such a positive response when my short story, "Strikethrough," was published by EveryDayFiction.com .  It was selected as the top story for the month of June, and as a result, I was interviewed by the site's blog Flash Fiction Chronicles.  Please take a minute to check it out, I had a great time doing it, and the interviewer, Thomas Jay Rush, did a great job as well.

You can view the article HERE

Friday, July 6, 2012

Why They Can Call My Mother "Mary"


Larry’s knuckles were bitten,
sometimes scratched, to bone,

scabs never healing before a fresh bite,
skin screaming to be picked.

He must have drunk liters
of his own blood, slowly,

in thirty-eight years
of stunted, aimless walking. 

Here tonight, with the rest
of Mom’s “Group,” to bowl. 

My brother and I sit, avoiding eyes,
embarrassed for the ragged shuffles,

awkward laughs – the gutterball
evening.  Mom gets up

as Larry selects a ball.
She reaches for slumped shoulders

and positions him to roll.
She covers those torn hands

with her own, to help him.