Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Medley of places to Submit

1) A Very Short Story Contest
It may be apocryphal, but the story goes that Ernest Hemingway won a bet by writing a short story that ran fewer than ten words. One version of the story places the bet at the famed Algonquin round table. Whether true or not, there is an actual bet-winning short story attributed to Hemingway:
For sale. Baby Shoes. Never worn.
You have to admit it's pretty good. It builds, and there’s a whole world of background and emotion lurking beneath those words.
We would like to make a similar bet with you. Write a great short story in ten words or fewer. (You may use a title, but that goes into the word count.) Submit it to our contest. Entry is free. Winner of the bet gets a free Gotham 10-week workshop. 
We’re a new Medium-based literary magazine that focuses on fantasy and sci-fi flash fiction. We love magical worlds full of dragons and speculative looks at the future, and we think these two genres are important to our culture, which is why we want to give writers of these genres a new place to publish their work. One that pays them, too. (Yay!)
3) Journal of Compressed Arts

The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts is looking for, as you might guess, “compressed creative arts.” We accept fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, mixed media, visual arts, and even kitchen sinks, if they are compressed in some way. Work is published weekly, without labels, and the labels here only exist to help us determine its best readers.

Our response time is generally 1-3 days. Also, our acceptance rate is currently about 1% of submissions. We pay writers $50 per accepted piece and signed contract.

Available everywhere you download

Monday, July 24, 2017

Flashback to Happy Birthday, Grace!

from a previous post: Friday, July 24, 2015


Before 1989 was the Cold War. There was also no grace.

I remember when my daughter Grace was born the summer of 1989. In the middle of the night I’d get up and feed her. I kept a little radio playing by her bed for white noise, so that every little noise didn’t wake her up. It was just she and I and WGN or WBBM in the wee hours of the night.

Then one night while I was nursing her within the glow of the radio dial I heard the most fabulous news. I use this word because it sounded like a fable. Often I dozed while feeding her. The announcer said the Wall had fallen.

There had been tremors, rumblings leading up to this earthquake that brought down the Berlin Wall. Czech citizens were being issued passes to go to the West for holidays—once a rarity—and in Poland, Solidarity had made headway in their fight for workers and nationalistic rights. Ultimately Solidarity saw the end of Soviet rule and helped move Poland toward democracy. In my dream-like state I thought I heard the news reader say the Wall had come down.

This was confusing. Because when I went to bed there had been a Soviet Union and now it sounded like things were falling apart. And I hadn’t even been asleep that long.

I waited until a faint light entered the room and then I woke up my husband, whispering because the baby had finally gone back to bed. “Hey, the Wall has come down.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Together we both listened to the radio as we were TV-less. We were astonished at how quickly the world had changed. By Christmas 1989 we were viewing images of the bodies of Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu, former dictator of Romania. Indeed, it was a new world.

But it didn’t last long. This summer Grace will turn 26 and she is now living in a post-cold war, post 9/11 world where more than ever we feel unsafe. Russia has ambitions; ISIS (as well as other forms of extremism) is threatening the pan-Middle East, plus polemic politics here in the US make us feel once again the chill of a Cold War.

For one brief space of time, in the middle of the night, while nursing my newborn there was this thing called hope. Every once in a while I like to revisit that moment. Happy Birthday Grace.

Friday, July 21, 2017

Flashback to Flash

I missed the fireworks this year in Chicago--basically gunshots which I can hear anytime!

Anyway, thought I 'd post a flashback to “4th of July Anarchy (Foster Beach)” Spring 2015, After Hours

4th of July Anarchy

Where Foster Beach becomes Omaha Beach, where the shock and awe of Baghdad rocks Lakeshore Drive, where everyone in the city not only owns a gun but an arsenal of fireworks. Where the sky lights up and the buildings reverberate the chest-thumping KABOOM, where all night long m80s punctuate the city soundscape, and the pop-pop-pop of Blackcats compete with infrequent gunfire. Where Roman candles sizzle and burst setting off car alarms and where children chase falling sparks as if they’re fireflies. Where screamin’ meemies spin and whistle while overhead pinwheels of color blossom and dissolve into a shower of stars, once alive but now extinguished, leaving behind contrails of vapor. We shake the numbness from our ears. Where even the moon smolders behind a haze of red, green, and yellow and sulfur clouds hang suspended, making the apparitions below seem as if they are moving in slow motion. Where each concussive blast answers with yet another explosion, louder than the last. Where all too soon it’s over.

Except for the pretty girl in short shorts dancing, her face aglow.

Wednesday, July 19, 2017

New Work @ Sleet

While I was gone rambling new work came out at a great journal, Sleet.

A sweet suite or series based upon accumulated parking lot memories: enjoy!

...across the parking lot, I spied a coyote silhouetted, the bristled hairs on his back standing up.

Monday, July 17, 2017

Great Spruce Head Island

I'm back from Art Week 2017

will blog after I sort my notes out

until then, enjoy:
the buoys of summer

a table is set

Double Beach


Friday, July 14, 2017

The Rambler Has Returned

What does it mean to travel and come home—
To feel your gypsy blood stirred
To understand a little bit of what it’s like
For the ocean to swallow the moon

The highway holds me, calls me
And I followed wherever it leads
I am no braver than you
It’s just that curiosity overcame fear

Yet, I amaze myself!
The miracles wrought by these middle-aged bones
Long, steady climbs, map-reading
Flat-fixing, chowder slurping—skills!

Each day I faced the world, unknown
I can do this, I reminded myself, maybe
I’m out to find midnight, constellations
Spread out across the sky, quiet bays

I had no idea I’d meet a fisherman,
A lady selling blueberry ice cream
A tree with a huge burr, a fairy table
Fellow travelers waiting at the dock.

Together and alone, strangers and friends
We plied the open road
It’s not about certainty, getting there

If only to say I did it, and would do it again.

Monday, July 10, 2017

While I'm out

Here is a guest blog I wrote