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What Happened This Week in the Writing World of Moi

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ACCEPTANCES:

[Erotica] “Weather Man” accepted for Sommer Marsden’s Kinkyville anthology

[Literary] “Big Red” accepted for Pank magazine

REJECTIONS:

[Horror] “Invasion” rejected by Dark Recesses.

WRITINGS:

[Poetry] A poem a day since April 1st. Read them here.

[Erotica, first draft] Digging Your Own Grave

Danny Tuccini scared me. Danny scared everybody. It wasn’t just the body, although he was built like molded copper wrapped in barbed wire–all muscles beneath tatted skin that rippled and pulled when he moved, teeth and nails and attitude sharp enough to cut you if you just got too close. A long, curved scar cut across one cheek, ending just at the corner of his mouth. Rumors were that he got it in a knife fight with a full-grown man when he was six, or that he jumped from a racing train when he was in high school, or that he stopped a car full of runners with his face.

The fear didn’t come solely from that, though. It came from his reputation for being a no-holds-barred bad ass. But mostly I think it was his presence, the tense way he held himself, as though all it would take was a single snip and he would come unwound, flinging himself sharp and deadly against whatever happened to be in his way.

Even sitting behind his big oak desk, his head lowered and his grey reading glasses perched on his nose, even like that, as he looked over the rims at me, he scared the piss out of me. Not even the big-ass guard behind me who had a hold of my neck with a pair of vice-grip hands didn’t scare me as much as the weight of Danny’s brown-black gaze on my face.

[Fantasy] To Hold and To Rest

“M, can’t you get those waves higher? They’re gaining. Fast.”

Marla didn’t even take the time to respond to her brother’s question. She had enough on her hands. Six pirate ships coming fast on the wind, and the water was fighting her. It did that sometimes, turned into a cranky child, and when that happened, no one could make it cooperate, not even Marla the pirate, water witch of the high seas. There was always a reason the sea went feral. It was just a matter of figuring it out.

“Seven!” Sylvan yelled from his watch above her.

Marla opened her eyes, momentarily letting the sea do its own thing. Seven ships? That was impossible. No pirate tribe had seven ships to command as their own. Had they banded together? No. She would have known about it. Her sources weren’t the kind that could be bought or turned. Selkies, mermen, the very fish and water–they didn’t care about money or loyalty.

“Be sure, Sylvan,” she said. “Be very sure.”

She waited while he counted again. “I’m sure. Seven.”

[Fantasy, first draft] Talk Talk

The coyotes were gossiping over the fence again. It was mostly talk of who was mating and who was dying and was spring really coming, and what did the robins, those red-breasted queens of gossip, have to say about it all? Talk of where the most odorous spots were and the best ways to deal with the itch of molting and which of the neighborhood gardens brought the best rabbits. It was the same-old-same-old.

When Coral had first moved to the house on Auburn Road, it was only the crows that had learned to talk. Their banter was easy to ignore, since they weren’t very smart and only said something when their attention was caught. As far as Coral could tell, they knew four words total: Shiny, spinny, ‘sup? and the always odd-sounding alarm call of hawk! which they seemed to use for every predator, whether it flew or not.

Back then, she could sit on her porch and read a book or do the crossword and ignore the banter. Not so with the coyotes. They were smarter, had more vocabulary, used the proper inflections. Not as good as the apes, of course, with their real vocal systems, but then there weren’t any apes in Coral’s backyard.

“Did you hear about Leafy’s granddaughter?” one of them asked. It was the big one, one of the first that had moved into Coral’s neighborhood, with a bushy tail that streaked from side to side.

Coral didn’t want to hear about Leafy’s granddaughter. She wasn’t even sure the creature’s name was Leafy — names didn’t translate very well, and she often did the same thing she did when she was reading about a character with an unpronounceable name, which was pick the first name that came to mind and use that for the rest of the book.

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Kiss kiss bang bang, s.

PS — Awesome Red Riding Hood image from this artist.

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