Here’s some of my recent Fiction & Live Storytelling with video links, for upcoming readings, check out What’s Next.
Four Really Good Reasons To Break Up and Three Minutes of Love That Lasts Forever. Radar’s Hella Close: Stories of Queer Intimacy, II.
“You have always been the kind of woman who could kill zombies and process emotions at the same time.”
They’d Never Know Would They – Gigantic Sequins Issue 6.1
“Once there was a girl who went off into the world __”
“– To bring her grandmother some cookies. Or Jam. Or buttered cakes. Rites of passage. And there’s the wolf, temptation, Freud, primrose path, wolf again, repressed sexuality, my what big parts you have, the better to fuck you with, enter the woodcutter, happy ever after, Thompson type 567-B or whatever, we both know the story.”
“I’m telling you this is a different story. Once, there was a girl who went off into the woods to make sure her grandmother was dead.”
Grief Camp, Excerpted in Transfer Magazine 108.
“…your classroom is where it all changed for me, for the first time. When I think of those afternoons with Anna, I also think of you, long dress, disheveled hair, sad smile. I imagine you floating down, in the sewers, under my city, your long earring glittering like fish in the grate lights. Your body, lithe, slips through drainpipes, somehow you never make it to sea.”
After The Bees, Bourbon Penn Issue 4.
“Wha— why are there bees?” she asked.
“Because I’m a beekeeper,” Heidi said, matter-of-fact as concrete.
“You can’t keep bees in an apartment. In New York.”
“Why not?” Heidi smiled serenely, the bees forming a halo around her head.
“The liberation of Sara is delightfully odd,” – Lois Tilton, Locus Magazine.
A Love Supreme, published in By The Bay and heard at Quiet Lightning.
He asked: “Are you mad at me?”
The Power, as heard at Red Light Lit.
“I will say that again,” the priest said, his voice filling the aisles, pushing against the stained glass with booming righteousness. “One of you is trying to seduce me. One of you girls is leading me into sin.” He slowly put down the bread and the wine and unfurled a gnarled white finger in my direction. “I am horrified,” he said, voice trembling. He made a slow sign of the cross against me, balding temple to silk covered groin, left nipple to right, wet lips moving in prayer.
My Boo, Excerpted in MFA Mixer April 2015
That night, I opened my door to go out for a pack of cigarettes and Boo Radley was waiting there in the brown carpeted hallway.
Giovanna’s Personal Time Vacation, at VelRo.
“In the month between her mother’s death and her own suicide, Giovanna went on vacation to the South of France…”