Exotique (short story contest entry)
In a future where synthetic body parts are valued more than human tissue, and where knowledge of Old Earth has been outlawed, an interior designer risks everything by decorating an exclusive community with furnishings based on majestic beasts of lore. Her humanity and freedom are jeopardized, however, when a client demands she broker the purchase of an exotic pet from the black market: a mutated homo sapien.
Deconstructing a Rock Opera’s Influence
You don’t have to be a Christian or even believe in God to see that composer Tim Rice was a brilliant writer and lyricist. Every time I listen to Jesus Christ Superstar, I am jealous of his talent in using spare, contemporary language to convey such a complicated, emotional story. My mother – an artist, a writer, an intellectual in a small Texas town of 1,200 people – introduced me to this album when I was only six or seven. I still feel its influence.
Elevating the Role of Food in Fiction (guest blog at Women Writers, Women’s Books)
Stop for a moment and consider how much brain space and activity we allot to the subject of food each day: planning menus, shopping for groceries, preparing meals, dining at restaurants, dieting. In some cases, perhaps wondering where our next meal might come from, or about the safety of a child with a severe peanut allergy. Eating – the what, when and why of it – unites all human beings. Shouldn’t the characters we create also have this very normal preoccupation with food?Petey’s Badass Run for Glory (flash fiction contest entry)
This Side of Crazy (The Montucky Review)
My sisters and I have already consumed an impressive stack of books since school let out four weeks ago. It took some needling, but Mama’s finally taking us to the Biloxi library later this morning.
Her earlier argument against getting more books — and a flimsy one at that — is that we read too fast and the books we had should have lasted all summer. I ignore her complaining. It’s one of my special talents.
Coffee with Satan (isgreaterthan.net)
“I’ve been afraid of you most of my life, you know.”
“And that’s my fault?” he asks, smoothing the front on his Italian suit. Though impeccably tailored, I find it a tad ostentatious for a morning meeting at Starbucks. Still, I’m not about to comment on the Devil’s attire.
“Technically, no,” I say. “The nun at Saints Cyril and Methodius Catholic School introduced me to you.
“Not to me,” he says. “To the concept of me. You Catholics are the absolute worst.”
Independence Day (Wilderness House Literary Review)
Stuffing the folds of billowy white around the blistering hot steering wheel, Christine tore the pearl headpiece and veil from her $150 up-do as she mashed the accelerator, sending pea gravel flying toward the horrified wedding guests…
(Read “Independence Day”[pdf])