Monday, February 18, 2019

Pearl and updates

Nonfiction and poetry out and waiting.

Novel updates...

Pearl sits down next to a young mother with ski jump nose, short wavy brown bobbed hair,  holding a baby to her chest. One piece of hair hangs down like a tendril, gives her a striking look, intentional. Other than that, she is unassuming, almost banal, unremarkable, matronly, pallid, thin lipped, clad in a plain print shirt, blouse opened in the front so that most of her breast is visible. She imagines the woman before, giving birth, longer hair, tossed haphazardly about her shoulders, slimmer, rosy cheeked, eyes distant and seeking, lips parted. Now it’s all changed and she is the wife and mother bound to husband and baby, tethered, mouth pursed, a silent repose while she parts with her milk, her essence. She feels her own breasts ache at the sounds of suckling, recalling not too long ago, Timon and the tug and release and orgasmic feeling that ensued. This  baby seems too big to be nursing, a year old or so, the newly grown tuft of hair, the way he stops and looks over at her, curious, smirking, lips wet, pink and puffy, and then turns back to the milk, his small hand, pink and pressing on the white flesh. He does it adeptly, as if he’s developed a system for stimulating the glands. The mother is content, guiltless, eyes half closed, a look of the inebriated.

Pearl updates


Poetry and nonfiction out and waiting.

Work in progress....

Everything has an origin, Adeye. She cringes, considers Grace, the way she maneuvers a broom, the unexpected harsh sweeps, the way mama did it after an hard night of papa’s boozing, and she feels the bristles razor sharp on her skin like a flagellation. She imagines her late at night, insomniac, a long haired persian on her lap, purring, keeping time with a clock ticking somewhere in the background, and she brushing its fur backwards and forwards. The cat’s eyes wide in alarm.  

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

Pearl and Adye novel updates and other...

I am steeped in revisions, but the novel is ongoing and am investing much more time, lately, as I feel as if I'm returning back to my more productive writing periods. Let's just say I was distracted for a spell. Novel is back to third person, back to that, and more the mc is no longer Sylvia but Pearl. Then there's Adye (doc at Headfort Home) and Emile (husband)  and the setting is Byrdstown Tennessee--Headfort Home is in Litchfield Hills, where Pearl stays. I am distracted with life kind of events, but hope to finish within the upcoming months, and then do full revision of entire work. I have an excerpt below for my phantom readers, interested.

I do have a story link here "Boy" which was published in Wilderness House Literary Review. I'm using parts of in novel--the setting, Emile, the brother, Boy, the barn etc. Like these pieces.

I also have letters in Hartford Courant.
"Fix the Desegretation" 
"Trump Gets a D- For Thanksgiving..."
"Crusties in Blue Back Square"
"Listen to the Nomads Too"

And I've submitted a few op-ed pieces, and an essay, too, so waiting to hear.


Adye Winters summons her back to Headfort in the hills, orchestrated her return, and she imagines him at the tall window waiting for her, the girl he knew ten years ago, the girl from Byrdstown County who married her childhood friend, Emile, and had a baby boy, the girl raised in back woods territory with the shifty dull minds, the boozing and suicide proclivities, where a wife backs her station wagon into the Orlando barn and plugs up her muffler with a scarf and asphyxiates herself, and elite Yankees like Adye Winters and his family come down from the East to view the synchronous firefly show at Martin’s Farm five miles past the town square, past Dixie's Cafe, past the cornfield and Jakovich’s apple orchard, past the cedar cabin and dilapidated outhouse, and the brick smoker where Danny Jakovich shot his brother in the eye with a bee bee gun, and his brother grew up to be one-eyed Louie, rode his bike with a JD in a brown paper bag in the basket, past the swath of young woods, lifeless, leafless from the grubs, and Muddy Creek, where she and Emile fished, past all that, there were the lines of cars, polished, waxed glitter of the elite, come down from the north, and Yankees come from Boston and Connecticut and New York, a few from California, even, all come to see the firefly show and Byrdstown was famous for it. And residents of Byrdstown were naive in ways, buffered in ways, set back from the bigger events like the Jim Jones tragedy, Times cover story, any ordinary man, Pearl had thought, any man she might have passed on Clark Street, or Parker Avenue in Byrdstown County, she’d easily miss it, that power, that mystical allure, but he had something, charisma, and he wanted some apostolic socialism, some equality. Maybe it was timing, maybe that was all. He got them to listen, seeped into their psyches, crawled in like an earwig and started gnawing...

Sunday, October 14, 2018

Friday, June 1, 2018

Return to Catherine and Clement excerpt 40 Days

updates: Straw Boy (short story) completed and mailed, fingers crossed.

Return to novel Catherine and her captor, Clement ...excerpt below.

letter published in Hartford Courant related to NFL trading
Essay accepted by Education Week,  waiting for pub date.

link below and words from Seamus Heaney

Thursday, January 11, 2018

Featherwing published in Wilderness House Literary Review et al...

Update on 2018, work in progress  & publications.

"Featherwing" is now published in Wilderness House Literary Review, Winter issue. (line below) and I'm thrilled it is in the right place.

Nonfiction--I am currently at work on essay (final tweaks today) on asceticism. (emerged from my novel, narrator, Catherine, and flavored, more recently, with adjunct musings) I will send this one out soon.

Fiction--still working on my short story, one in collection, Josi and her feral brother, the boy, tied in the barn. I have not returned to it in a few weeks, and l'm looking forward to it. I added a new character, neighbor, Emil Schwinn, and decided on the ending. (no spoilers just a snippet below)

I will be returning to my novel 40 Days of Asylum shortly.

Letter in the Hartford Courant "Pithy and Smirky" regarding Paul Ryan and his discussion on CBS related to grand tax overhaul. Link below.

Wilderness House Literary Review ..

Hartford Courant 

Excerpt from latest story: The Boy (tentative title)

He was sick, her grandpa had said, and he was dangerous to himself, and run off too much, he had told her. "I damn near broke my hand on that boy," she overheard him say on occasion. "That boy got the devil in him. Bad seeds just git worse and worse, never can train them types."
“I had a second cousin like that too,” Dottie Loyd, said “She was like a wild cat that one.”
 Josi despised Dottie, the way she sretched out wild, inflected her voice, smiled when she said it, demure-like, even though she had wrinkles around her mouth when she smiled, like old people, and sagging skin that shook under hear arms and chin. Josi was quiet, hidden in the far corner of the room, up against the wainscot; she listened to these talks about the boy (they called him) all the while wondering why he had to be left alone in the darkest corner where no sun ever reached and not even the company of Daisy. Maybe if he could have been tied up closer to Daisy, at least, and not far off in the corner of the barn, in an obscure dank place, where the spiders and beetles crawled, where a prisoner might be held. She had lain in bed awake for hours imagining herself in that corner and even though she shook and cried, she ruminated, and she was the boy, and she kept her body still, curled up tightly atop her cover, shivered, like the boy. At dinner, she pretended to eat, scooped most of it into her napkin then emptied it underneath the table where Clementine was waiting. I could get in a little closer she decided--no harm. 

Monday, November 13, 2017

Featherwing publication

Thrilled to hear Timothy Gager, fiction editor of Wilderness House Literary Review, has accepted my story Featherwing for a winter publication.

http://www.whlreview.com/