It's a Jumble

  The year is drawing to its close, and it’s that time when writers make posts about their award eligibilities for the year. I had four stories published in 2022, and my first poetry publication as well. I would be honored if you took a look at any of them.   Eligible Stories “An Address to the Newest Disciples of the Lost Words” in Lightspeed Magazine, January 2022 (3357 words).   A story about a magical language that can say all things. About the power and limits of words. And it’s also almost all I want to say about writing. Stefan Rudnicki gives a marvelous narration (his voice is an exact match for my character’s!) on the accompanying podcast, so give that a listen if you can.   “Before We Drown” in The Future Fire, January 2022 (flash fiction, ~1000 words). A little flash piece about memory and the light between storms.  “Once on a Midsummer’s Night” In GigaNotoSaurus, February 2022 (~7500 words). An epic fairy tale fantasy about a dead garden that comes to lif

    As I write this, snow is piled thick outside my window, a gift from the first real snowstorm of the season. Winter is here early.   It’s time for blankets and hot tea. For curling up on the couch with a good read. Perhaps a story of humor and hope, something bright and warm against the chill? Or perhaps you’d like to lean into the dark with something unsettling and strange. Here are thirteen to consider.   “Girl, Cat, Wolf, Moon” by Rati Mehrotra in Uncanny Lila found the cat market when she was seven. Or perhaps it is more accurate to say the cat market found her. Lila is the youngest of three daughters, growing up in a rural village in India in a family that does not value girls. She is alternately ignored and berated by her family, seen as the least of her sisters. But when still a child, she makes a wonderful discovery: a night market staffed by cats selling magical wares, a market visited only by cats. And there she meets a cat prince. . . This is an exquisite story

  “Within this temporal body composed of a hundred bones and nine holes there resides a spirit which, for lack of an adequate name, I think of as windblown. Like delicate drapery, it may be torn away and blown off by the least breeze. It brought me to writing poetry many years ago, initially for its own gratification, but eventually as a way of life. True, frustration and rejection were almost enough to bring this spirit to silence, and sometimes pride brought it to the brink of vanity. From the writing of the very first line, it has found no contentment as it was torn by one doubt after another. This windblown spirit considered the security of court life at one point; at another, it considered risking a display of tis ignorance by becoming a scholar. But its passion for poetry would not permit either. Since it knows no other way than the way of poetry, it has clung to it tenaciously.”         --Matsuo Basho (1644-1694) from his travelogue, T he Knapsack Notebook , translated by Sam Ha