Open wide 2016, here we come.

2015 was kind of a fucked up year in the world, and I for one am looking forward to bidding it good riddance. That said, there’s been a handful of not-so-terrible moments along the way as well. A number of said moments happened to involve my writing. While it will never save the world, my scribbling has certainly saved me from ruin a time or two. This year saw a few of my pieces published (with more to come next year), a draft of my first novel completed, and the debut of my weekly feature Decades of (in)Experience. To say the least, it’s been entertaining to see my words set loose upon the world for anyone who cares to read and enjoy them. Reactions of scorn and derision are welcome too. I always enjoy a good fire-fight.

Some of you may have already discovered my work. Some of you may not have. In what will probably be my last post of the year, I’ve decided to update those who care about such things on the stories, poems, and other published oddities which are or will be available for your peepers.

  • On November 15, Yellow Chair Review included my poem, Random Texts to the One You Love in issue number 5 of their online magazine. Go here to view the issue. You can find my poem on pg. 50.
  • The Hobo Camp Review, a gathering place for road-weary storytellers, will feature my poem Ballad of an Echo Boomer in their Winter/Western themed issue set to be live on January 5, 2016. There’s no warmer feeling than being welcomed by a group of digital vagrants interested in narratives that sound great read aloud beneath a railroad bridge at night. Proud to be a part of the camp.
  • As we slide right into next year aided by copious amounts of temporal lube, my short story A Response to Mushrooms will also see the light of day thanks to Corvus Review. February 2, 2016 will see the unveiling of their Winter issue and, along with it, my story highlighting a wild ride while under the influence of a very specific type of psychedelic.

For previously published stories and poems, feel free to take a gander at the update from October 28th of this year, or visit the published words section of my site. Last, and possibly least, be sure to keep up with everyone’s favorite thirty-something curmudgeon in Decades of (in)Experience, appearing every Friday only on the Antix Press site. If you dig the salty flavor I humbly ask only that you help us spread the word.

More rants and ramblings guaranteed in the new year, kiddos. Until that time keep smiling, keep shining knowing you can always count on booze. Have a happy whatever-the-hell you celebrate, and I’ll see y’all on the other side in 2016!

Poetry shit

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In the beginning, there was Finality…

In case you haven’t noticed, it’s August already.

The eighth month of the year.

2015 is over the halfway mark and I have no fucking clue where the time has gone. The Stones may have had time on their side, but this humble blogger can’t seem to figure out which end is up these days. Actually, that isn’t entirely true. This year has just been somewhat of a sleep-deprived, muddled smear thus far with many a personal changes and many a stories developing, filling notebooks and other such blank pages in the forms of novels, shorts, and poems.

Speaking of such vowel movements, a new short story of mine entitled Finality has been published by the good folks of questionable taste over at Every Writer’s Resource. Kind enough to sully their site with the likes of my prose, EWR: Short Stories has even gone so far as to feature my story on their front page.

She lay on the bed crying, the tears wouldn’t cease. The world was so god-damn unfair. She had gone to bed two hours earlier in an attempt to escape the memories and find some much needed rest. Rest eluded her, as did any form of peace or solace. It had been a week since his departure. Though it wasn’t his fault, she couldn’t help but feel resentment, a supreme anger.

He had left her alone.

He had left her in pain.

Fault didn’t matter as she cried into the sprawling loneliness of the apartment bedroom. The sobs ricocheted off of the walls, rippling through the tiny, sparsely furnished one bedroom walk-up they shared.

The night he abandoned them, alcohol flowed heavily. Whiskey always flowed heavily. After another bottle, another fight, he disappeared. The last memory she had was the revving of his engine, the screeching of his wheels.

To read the story in it’s entirety, visit EWR: Short Stories Finality page here and keep your eyes peeled for upcoming announcements on other offerings of the vaguely literary variety. Now log off and go do something productive with your weekend!