Tag Archives: Fiction

Electile Dysfunction: The Dating Profiles

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First published in PQMonthly.

 

FeelTheBern69
537 Miles Away
74 Years Old
5’8″, 162 lbs, Some Hair
I Am Into: Geeks, College, Daddy Chasers
Open To: Friendships, Relationships, Dates, Elizabeth Warren as a running mate

What I’m Looking For: My socks! Haha. Looking for a reason to delete this app. Fiscal Top but social Bottom. Looking for someone to bring home to mom. Intelligence, self-awareness, confidence a must. Currently job hunting/interviewing so may relocate in November of 2016, please be open to relocate too. Like to read, take walks, go to the gym but not lately haha. Sometimes shy until I warm up to people. Want to Netflix and chill? HMU. Tested neg 8/2015 and poz friendly.

Thanks for all the woofs guys, sorry I can’t reply to everyone. Continue reading Electile Dysfunction: The Dating Profiles

Björk at MÖMA: A (Fake?) Review

 

Once in a great while, an artist comes along who pushes boundaries, gives viewers opportunities to rethink their paradigms, and creates bold, brave art that’s sometimes not fully appreciated in its time. Occasionally, that artist is honored with a retrospective, and given a chance to participate, bringing their beautiful creations to a larger, more mainstream audience. That artist was Marina Abramovic.

But now, we have been graced with the Björk retrospective at the Museum Of Modern Art. This quirky singer, originally the lead singer of The Pixies The Treaclies The Sugarcubes, debuted her solo album in 1993. It was called Debut. She’s known for her unconventional style and eclectic production design of her music videos. She’s also known by basics-at-large mostly for wearing a dress that looks like a swan to the Academy Awards in 2001 (seriously, people can’t let that go). I visited New York last month in balmy February, and was given early access to what is by all accounts definitely a retrospective. Continue reading Björk at MÖMA: A (Fake?) Review

Anchors Aweigh

As I posted recently with as little fanfare as possible, I released Part One of my first novel, The Tropic of Never last month. It’s very “me”: a gay sci-fi epic with a main character, Edgar Locke, thrust into an unfamiliar world full of wonders, on a city-sized ship that shouldn’t exist. Recently, I asked three artists whose work I admire greatly to read the book and create art from it (with minor, but barely minor spoilers). I couldn’t be more honored to have these talented people interpret my words. Here are their creations:

by Nick Fauble
by Nick Fauble

The above is Edgar Locke’s beginning of his passage through The Spikes, interpreted by Nick Fauble, a Portland-based artist and graphic designer. This passage was easy for me to write, because it was a sequence I always knew was coming and I had lots of time for the ideas to marinade in my brain before I typed it out. I’m really looking forward to future collaborations with Nick, do check out more examples of his awesome work here!

Continue reading Anchors Aweigh

The Tropic Of Never, A Book In Three Parts

You know that feeling when you’ve worked on something for a really long time, and you release it into the world? It’s wonderful and terrifying. Those are the feelings I get when I announce the release of my first book, The Tropic Of Never. It wasn’t a difficult birth, but the conception was less than auspicious: Continue reading The Tropic Of Never, A Book In Three Parts

Little Curtis, Part 3

Little Curtis, getting up to shenanigans

The loose, rattling knock sounded through the entire three-story farmhouse. For Pete’s sake, thought Betty drying her hands on the dishtowel as she came out of the kitchen to answer it, they’re going to knock that poor screen door right off its hinges! It wouldn’t take much though, she mused: repairing that old rickety screen door had been on Joe’s honey-do list for as long as she could remember. They would likely repair it in time for Little Curtis’ wedding at this rate.

She looked down the hallway at the front door, and tried to make out the figure through the yellowing lace of the window covering. The figure outside was tall and lanky, and bore the slightly stooped silhouette of a life hard-worked, of money hard-earned. She realized with a start that it was her neighbor, Jasper Proctor! She almost didn’t recognize him without the beard he used to sport. Why, he hadn’t come around in…Betty counted the years on her fingers, and when she realized she would need a third hand to properly count the years since old Jasper had trundled over from his cattle farm next door, she gave up. It must have been right after the mill fire that he had last come over. His driveway had been a makeshift fire line for the blaze that had swept the plain, and it still bore the soot deeply: she could always tell which of their long driveways a car was coming down, from the color of the dust it raised. Continue reading Little Curtis, Part 3

Holiday Party Invitation

The deeper I look, the stranger stuff I find. This one’s an old party invitation. No really, this was the only text I included to describe the holiday party I invited friends to. It resulted in some confused guests, tentative RSVPs, and an amazing party. It’s kind of clunky, with some awkward word choices, but I think it would make a fun children’s book…I also keep laughing at how the Mill Fire keeps popping up often in my writing. The stories must all take place in the same universe.

Carl


The squirrel padded along the verdant path of needles and leaves. His friend, Hoofy the Clumsy Deer, followed close behind, occasionally tripping on a log or rock protruding from the snow-patched ground.

The squirrel’s name was Carl. “Catch up, Hoofy!” he called over his shoulder. They were already late, and being late made him grouchy. A lot of things made him grouchy since he quit smoking.

“I’m going as fast as I…”, Hoofy’s sentence was cut short by a strangled gasp as he caught his antlers in a low-hanging branch and his gangly legs went flying out from under him. He thrashed for a few seconds, scattering snow everywhere, then went still in defeat, awkwardly suspended from the branch by his antlers. Swaying and bobbing slowly, he sighed. “Um…a little help here?”

Carl snorted through his nose. He considered leaving the young fawn there. Serve him right. Getting caught like that, being careless, when they were already late. Especially today, a few days before Christmas, and on the way to the party! He needed a drink. Continue reading Holiday Party Invitation