Musical Pencil

Spring and romance were meant to celebrated as one. I have something new up at a lovely new romantic site: Daily Love. I hope you enjoy this bit of romance and consider submitting something there yourself. Cathedral of His Ribcage

Little sci-fi story up at New Flesh.  Security Monitor at New Flesh

Speck of Light By: Paula Ray 848 words “The thing is: you’ve got to write something light during dark times. Everyone’s sick of hearing depressing news. What people want is an escape.” “I don’t write fluff.” “It isn’t fluff. It’s a gift.” Steve leaned forward in his executive chair and turned a family photo around so Stella could see it. He pointed to an old man in a fishing cap. “See that man?” “Yeah.” “That’s the smartest man I’ve ever known, my grandfather. He had a saying that has stuck with me for life and it’s true.” Stella rolled her eyes and sighed then cocked her head to listen. “People will always be happy to see you. They’ll be happy to see you come or to see you go and it’s up to you to decide which kind of person you want to be.” She smiled. “That’s pretty good.” “Yes, it is.” Steve gave her a toothy grin. “I think the same philosophy applies to music.” “What do you mean?” “The world has enough songs about how hard life is. The songs that often...

Please check out the image called Lush that inspired this story before reading it. Leslie Ditto is an amazing surreal artist. The image I'm speaking of is a woman in a tub, her head is a hand and her brain is barely peeking through the fingers of her head. Leslie Ditto Deconstruction of a Body and Resurrection of a Marriage Submerged in a tub of formaldehyde, Seabella hung her head off the back edge of the crone fingered tub and opened the fist of her skull. Her exhausted brain wiggled to the tips of her fingers and breathed. On the ceiling were maps of the sewer and blue prints of the factory where body parts were refurbished into living machines. She was determined to go back there—to Weretoga—and reclaim her soul, then burn the cadaver room down. A knock at the bathroom door, “Sea, you’ve been in there for hours. I’ve got to pee. Hurry up.” Deston was impatient, half man, half computer—always searching for more RAM. “Why are you waiting? I don’t care if you pee ...

Yesterday, an angel named Janna left a message on my blog with a link. In her message she asked if I intended for one of my poems to be posted on a blog under a moniker. I looked. NO! I hadn't given permission at all. There was my poem with a different title and someone was passing it off as their's on their "weightloss" blog of all places. I left a comment for the thief and for the administration of the site. Come to find out this thief had plagiarized MANY other poems, most still posted elsewhere on the web under the rightful owners' name. I went into a tizzy. I wanted to scream, "OFF WITH HER HEAD!" I could have done it better than Helena Bonham Carter in Tim Burton's version of Alice in Wonderland . Alas, the poem thief's account is now terminated on the site were she was posting poems and all the poems she had posted are not visible ( I assume deleted). Now, I'm feeling rather paranoid. I want to google lines from all of my po...

I think I need what is called a Beta reader. I am the world's worst editor. I look back over my published work and see error upon error, some grammar, some typos. I don't think a single story has slid by without something going to print with mistakes. I study the grammar books. You laugh, but I do study the freaking grammar books. I read them on lunch breaks and tell myself I will master the art of writing flawless prose, but when I set to writing, my imagination takes over and my emotions soar, I think with my fingers and press send. It's a disease; I'm convinced. I'm rubbing my genie lamp now. My three wishes are: Grant me the patience to proofread my work thoroughly prior to submitting it, the knowledge that will help me identify my mistakes and be able to correct them, and the strength to click delete when it needs to be clicked. I know my wishes and the serenity prayer have a similar melody, maybe because my Mema had the Serenity prayer stuck on our refridg...

Howl is now available:  Create Space   There are numerous fine authors with stories in this anthology. I  have a piece of Microfiction in there as well.   Also, I didn't realize this 'til this afternoon, but my story "Darvana and the Curse of the Scurlots" is live at Aurora Wolf. Thanks to Jack S. Rogers for the great accompanying artwork. This is my first venture into fantasy and is inspired by youthful stories I read growing up. There is a dragon and a happy ending. I don't do many of those kinds of endings. Perhaps I should do more.   Darvana and the Curse of the Scurlot Also, my dear friend, AJ Brown, has a new story posted at The New Flesh Magazine, check it out: Melissa in a Jug

I keep starting and deleting - starting and deleting. I'm trying to write stories in my head, but those starting sentences just seem bland and don't fit. I thought maybe it is because there is something else inside that wants out - so of course old stories won't fit. I'm going to take five minutes and write a bunch of whatever and see what's lurking inside. It's five minutes 'til midnight - ready set go: Day break cracks through the egg of my mind and I wonder where you are in this conglamoration of molecules that form some sort of blob we call a world. I think maybe you and I live outside ourselves, funny that. Outside ourselves is freedom and complete lack of geography. I prefer it that way. All spider webbed and wrapped in paralysis is not a life worth living. It is a life of dying and I prefer the black hole of nothingness where everything is possible. An imagination is a gift or curse...curse of a gift....gift of a curse - I'm not sure which so...

It's the first day of March and I have a couple of new poems posted. I wish I could say I actually have a lot sent out, but I need to write more. Harvest The Veil