My short story submissions calendar is a curated list of contest deadlines and calls for submission. These are opportunities I believe are at least worth considering for your stories.
Read my winning entry to the Kevin Smoker Scholarship for the 2016 San Francisco Writers Conference.
This weekend I attended LitQuake 2015's excellent panel, The Art of the Short Story. Thanks to Mark Peterson for moderating Jodi Angel, Tom Barbash, Grant Faulkner, and Siamak Vossoughi. This is a summary of my largely paraphrased notes. Siamak wants to appeal to the heart in all of his stories to walk away with a wondrous sense of having… Continue reading LitQuake 2015: The Art of the Short Story
Where are you at 10:00am sharp on Saturday mornings? Sleeping in? Waking up? Waiting for brunch? I’m usually grabbing a seat at Mo Joe’s Cafe for a Shut Up & Write! marathon. To make it on time, I have to wake up before 8 in sleepy San Francisco to catch a just-shy-of-9 train that whisks me… Continue reading Why I Shut Up & Write
Listen to me read this poem in the embedded player below or on SoundCloud: he lay there gasping for the numb to end his was an unfelt pain all in his head — er, heart that's what these romantics swear by their cardiovascular deity but I took pity on him nonetheless his red carnivore gravity… Continue reading faith n’ flickers
another soul / napping on you guarantees / you will feel more loved
Once upon a Cold, we painted with our Breath, drawing grand designs with Frost. We thought the Ice would last all season, comfort of our white Chrysalis wrapping Crystal dreams. We antici- pated each coming day like a Snowflake waits for infinite friends to follow it's unique descent. We didn't fear starry hours or burned out sky because… Continue reading a melted art
From my personal journal, February 1, 2014: Seeing Maidan in person left me in a state of mild awe. How can so many souls come from near and far, gather, organize, donate, protest, fight, break, bleed, die, and wake up to do it again and again for months? There must be something here, something about… Continue reading Maidan Morning
http://vimeo.com/84480973 A couple meets for coffee on the last day of their relationship.
Night is like a song that you can't see so you make up scenery to fill the gaps between fluorescent highways. and forests possible. Figments of figs twist with twigs into nocturnal architectures of confusing beauty. Headlights slice into your eyes and ruin the surprise so you return to sound of foggy rain and smoky… Continue reading Edgemoor
So far only poetry lovers with iPads have been able to read blinks of awe, my new poetry book. People without an iPad can now get a better peek at the poetry in the book, which you can see, touch, and hear. I also want to learn where else people want to experience this kind… Continue reading Blinks of Awe Beyond the iPad
I return where I was born, not physically Driving a machine that didn't yet exist through the sleepy streets nocturnal every intersection bursting with memories Past overgrown trees surrounding an elementary school I can't see Thrusting into radio static songs names scenes all unfamiliar except the change drums as predictable as heartbeats On the sandy… Continue reading Ripping Current
The scars you leave on me are just tattoos that no one else can see, they've bled ad nauseam, invisible ink pouring from the pores of lashes and old sores, a tale of muted agony tailed by the climax of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I knew. The stars you leave me with are just dreams that… Continue reading Expired Eyes
The glass cracks before my eyes and I admire the fractal patterns. Branching limbs reaching for the edges, just to find them. Nails on endless rows of fingertoes too short, too close, too hurt. So hungry for an end they forget to taste. So soon we'll suffocate. But now will never breathe again. Tomorrow we expire.… Continue reading Without Tomorrow
The question "Are you a writer?" always makes me uncomfortable. Some days I don't write. Does that mean I'm not a writer on those days? Where does the expectation of writing every day come from? Did I find it true for myself? Did I unconsciously assume it as part of some vague notion of what a… Continue reading I’m Not a Writer, I Write
Here's a recording of a poem I published a month ago, Color Me Synesthesia: (If you don't see anything above, listen to the track on SoundCloud.) before, I was but a pencil line _______________, simple little stroke, lacking even a squiggle but you you traced me well, gave me depth & Definition a flair of ink,… Continue reading Color Me Synesthesia (audio)
Today I learned to breathe and the air was full of fragments that tasted like the moment. I didn't dare hold on. Just inhaled all I could and waved at dusk-soaked curtains and darker ocean folds and warmer nights stretching into tomorrow. A summer fever collapsed into a delicate ember with beads of sweat, pockets… Continue reading euloJune
By this point, my press release for blinks of awe boils down to: 30,011 impressions - how many times my press release appeared somewhere PRWeb can track (10,000 is average) 4,965 media deliveries - media outlets that received my press release 2,790 Google results for my headline: "New Life Given to Old Art Form With Blinks… Continue reading My Experience with a PRWeb Press Release