My latest review of shadowslongshoreman (Jose Daniel Garcia) is now up on the review tab. Check it out.
New review posted of Chris Irvin’s Safe Inside the Violence.
Working on the novel I put down two years ago. Cheers!
It’s been a while! A new acceptance in the books. Mum’s the word until the contract is signed. I’ve been sloooooowly hacking away at my next novel and novella. Nobody trains you to find time for things like this when a kid comes along. My son just turned 1, so my hope is now that he is more-or-less sleeping through the night I can find the time to again be a morning scribe.
Check out the Review tab for a nod to Alan M. Clark’s The Door that Faced West, one of the best books I’ve read in a long time. I will be posting more reviews in the near future.
Through the 21st of June you can download my first novel, La Maquina Oscura, from the publisher’s website for FREE.
The Machines have risen. My debut novel from Westphalia Press has arrived, published January 1st. This marks new territory for me. I look forward to sharing my longer works with the world and hope you will join me on this endeavor. STAY ODD.
The most amazing thing about reading a snippet, a book, a tome of poetry is that you can find something intriguing for which you may not have been looking. Alice Bolin’s Motel Diary is exactly one of those books that grab you from the start, with detrimental verse, poisonous words that haunt the author and reader to the core. The thoughts are erratic; the desperation is staggering and dizzying. Bolin paints a once blissful life with regret and sadness.
The narrative bounces from hands-on shame due to old secrets—ones that are unspeakable and stained by revelations—to mysterious hunts towards the unattainable. The author’s personality is palpable in the prose. Her dissent against the dark side of humanity, one that can be saved, but refuses to admit to the need, becomes apparent in every calculated word.
No part of this book is contrived; no breath is wasted. The natural sigh of life resides in the voice that has brought you Motel Diary. Pieces of yourself will blend with the words and letters until you, yourself, feel entwined within the dreamlike revelry that pulls at each and every heartstring.
Grab a copy from Poor Claudia!
My first collection of short fiction has been released by Chupa Cabra House. Combining both previously published works and new fiction, there is something for everyone. I would say a lot of the fiction is inspired by the likes of Ray Bradbury and Richard Matheson, and one reader compared it to “Twilight Zone” fiction. I concur. Click me to buy on Amazon!
In other news my first novel, La Maquina Oscura, has been picked up by Westphalia Press (http://westphaliapress.org/).
It should be available in the next couple of months. Watch this space for updates and a release date!
I finally decided to sign up for NaNoWriMo. Come November 1st I’m hitting the words hard, like Rocky Balboa to some raw meat. It will be my third attempt at writing transgressive fiction, the first of which I’m rewriting and the second I’m shopping. I hope this book, Paisley Weasel, will come out looking the best.
In the speculative world, my first collection of previously and unpublished stories is going to be released through Chupa Cabra House: http://www.chupacabrahouse.com/
They’re a great new press with a nice vision. I hope you’ll go check out some of their publications and open submission calls. This link leads to an interview with the owner, and is also where you can buy a copy of the strange chapbook, Radical Dislocations, which contains my poem “The Maddened Head”. http://radical.chupacabrahouse.com/
Last Saturday, the 22nd of June, one of the most important people in my life passed away——my mother-in-law, Mary-Jane. M.J. was a special person to all who knew her. She had that tactful ability to make you smile, even when you were in a rotten mood. If you were down, so was she, and she wouldn’t allow you to leave her side without resolution by means of a good, compassionate talk. Most people’s mind’s don’t function like M.J.’s, in that if she had something to say it was never behind your back——a quality I think she learned from her mother and passed on to my wife, Brenna. Yet, it was never cruel or judgmental.
She was inherently kind and lived for her daughter. Brenna is her pride and joy. M.J. would do anything for her, at any given moment, without petition or complaint. Sure, they got on each other’s nerves at times, but they always wound up hugging it out not long after with many tears, apologies, and kisses.
She never missed an opportunity to tell a story, and it didn’t matter how many times you’d heard it before, she was going to tell you once more. If ever you’ve sat and conversed with M.J., chances are you know a great deal about Brenna’s infant years, especially regarding the man who was “really black”. Her laugh was infectious, her heart enormous, and her impression is everlasting.
While it hurts that she’s gone, I feel so blessed to have been able to know her. Many have terrible relations with their in-laws, but M.J. came to refer to me——on a frequent basis——as her son. I also accepted her as a mother. We lived with her for nearly five years through a gauntlet of her health issues, joint emotional times, equally happy moments, and created memories that will never expire. She endured more than any one human should have to and none of it did she deserve. However, even in painful times, her faith in the Blessed Mother never wavered.
Last fall, she was taken by ambulance to the hospital, where she was diagnosed with a pulmonary embolism. I remember that day vividly. It was only us two and I was headed to work. She said she felt dizzy and went to sit up, then passing out. I caught her in my arms, laid her down on her side, and called the ambulance. I was frightfully scared and paced about waiting. By the time the EMT’s arrived, she awoke and was again coherent, but said she was fine and didn’t need to go to the hospital. In that way, she was headstrong. She wanted to do everything herself. I made them take her that day. Otherwise, she may have died. Thenceforth, she referred to me as her angel.
Almost a year later, I wasn’t there for her. I know she wouldn’t hold me responsible, but it’s hard not to question where you were that day, if there was anything you could have done. Life will not be the same now. We will never forget our time and memories with you, Mom. To say you will be missed is a gross understatement. I thank you for your care and wisdom. You raised, and were, a beautiful woman. The last thing I can promise you is that I will take care of your Brenna. She misses you so, as do I. We love you more than these words can express…
Issue 2 of Portmanteau features one of my poems. This is a zine from the Northampton area. I suggest you snag one of these little artsy gems. http://www.cursemag.com/merch