This story won an Olive Woolley Burt Award for Creative Writing at the 2020 League of Utah Writers Quills Conference in the Short Fiction category.
(CW: Mental Illness, Suicide)
“Please don’t make me go again,” he said, doing his best to keep his tears on the inside where he’d been told so often they belonged.
“But you must,” she said. “The doctor said you must.”
He moaned like one of his cats when it was ill. “I don’t think I can do it again. Don’t make me do it, please.”
His hair was stark white with age and was, like…
You’ve held my heart in the palm of your hand,
turned the bloody thing over,
wondering what makes it beat
like a watch whose second-hand makes the long,
lonely distance around the face
while the hour hand of your love inches by.
Have you dropped it?
Do discarded hearts beat in time to their lover’s?
I still feel it beating to your tune,
though I worry I’ll forget if too many minutes slip.
You were too wary to hand your heart to me,
the times I snuck to hold it were few but rhapsodic.
Whether mine resides in chest or hand or floor,
For those of you who might be so inclined to nominate my work for any of the awards out there, here is a list of my work that is eligible from 2020.
I have my novel, but most of the rest is short stories. There’s a poem in there, too.
I would be incredibly humbled if you even considered such a thing for me.
Honor’s Gauntlet. This is my novel this year, set in the BattleTech universe. It’s published by Catalyst Game Labs and tells the tale of Archer Pryde, a Jade Falcon Warrior. He’s caught between the dictates of…
The heart’s a fickle mistress
a thing of ice and fire.
It bears a beating witness
to all that you aspire.
But hearts can twist suspicious
and tie you up in wire.
It burns a righteous fury,
no reason to be found.
It acts a solemn jury,
and handcuffs you, spellbound.
It rains tormented flurries
to quench the burning ground.
It freezes all our blessings
when pain snows through the air.
Flaked ice sings songs distressing,
we swallow frozen prayers.
We leave all that’s depressing
and tend our last despair.
The heart’s a fickle mistress,
a force you ought not cross.
As every year, I’d like to go through and offer a place to check out the writing work I’ve been most proud of over the last year.
2020 hasn’t been the easiest year for anyone, and the same holds true of me. We’ve all been through a lot, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be proud of the work we’ve accomplished this year. I’ve published a lot at various outlets and publications. I’ve had stories in online literary journals and short stories published in anthologies. …
They say blood is thicker than water, but that’s not true.
Some say the original idiom is much older than the current use of the term and it is the complete antithesis of the way the phrase is used today: “The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.”
It’s much more honest that way.
We can’t choose the water of our womb. None of us asked to be here, none of us asked to be born. Like Vonnegut used to say, “All persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.”
So what do we have control…