Read “No Ice Cream,” “The Remnants,” and “Bring the Llama” in Ironology 2015


I am having a crazy week as a writer, because as of this morning, I’ve had four stories published this week!

Three of those stories are flash fiction pieces that I’ve written as a member of the Iron Writer community over the past year. I’ve written about Iron Writer before. It’s a concept and community that has challenged and changed my writing style and taught me how to craft quality flash fiction.

This week, The Iron Writer published a collection of flash fiction stories – and I’m in the anthology – three times! Here’s the blurb on the back of the book, which will explain and describe The Iron Writer and this collection better than I ever could:

“Atop the writer’s desk await the tools of the the craft. Four days and the deadline looms. Four elements must integrate the pieces into five hundred words. The pieces begin to fall into place. The competing writers will not relent and every word counts. The Iron Writer is a web-based flash fiction competition. It is about crafting short, element based stories in a competitive environment; winner take all. It was conceived out of the desire to help writers of all skill levels improve the writing through fast, fun skirmishes with other writers using elements common to each story. From around the world, writers have gathered and competed. Some are veterans of the craft; some are new to the game. Yet all of them were willing to do battle to discover if they were worthy of carrying the title of Iron Writer. Contained here are the winning stories by the current champions of… The Iron Writer Challenge.”

Ironology 2015 is a compilation of all the winners of the weekly challenges over the past year. And I am so proud to announce that three of my flash fiction stories, “No Ice Cream,” “The Remnants,” and “Bring the Llama,” appear in this volume.

If you’d like to take a flash fiction journey through a collection that is quirky, emotional, and crosses all genres of fiction, pick up a copy of Ironology 2015.

Me? I’ll just be over here eating cheesecake and sipping whiskey to celebrate!


Read “Take Care” in Shooter Literary Magazine

Shooter magazine cover

Today, I can say that I am an internationally published author! Across the pond in the UK, Shooter Literary Magazine is celebrating the printing of their first issue while I celebrate the fact that my short story “Take Care” is included in the volume. Another cool milestone–this is my first printed publication. That means a bound book with a fancy cover and my name in print. I can’t wait to smell its hot-off-the-press pages!

A little about “Take Care.” This is one of those stories where art most definitely imitated life. When we first started hanging out, my boyfriend and I went to a Garbage concert. Naturally, I took the opportunity to channel my inner (and outer) Shirley Manson for the occasion since my then crush had shared he’d always had a thing for Shirley. So I was all red hair, heavy eyeliner, and punk clothing. I got us a couple of beers to drink during the opening act, and after a few sips, my crush got really sick. When all was said and done, we determined he’d been drugged–and it had probably been meant for me (fucked up, right?).

Luckily, we caught it early enough and after chugging two liters of water, my crush was feeling okay enough to go back into the concert. We wound up having a great night and when enough time had passed and we made our relationship official, we started joking about the experience, because clearly I’d drugged him to get his attention, right? (Because that tactic makes so much sense and this girl who’s never so much as smoked a cigarette would be all about drugging someone–I hope you all sense the sarcasm there.)

Another night, over drinks with my friend, Sara, I told her the account of the Garbage concert. And through the hazy cloud of IPA drunkenness, I mused about turning that whole debacle into a short story. I would write it in first person from the point of view of a truly single white female character who goes to desperate measures to get the attention of the object of her affection. The next day, my fingers couldn’t type fast enough. “Take Care” was born.

And now you can read it in Shooter’s first edition, aptly named Pulling the Trigger, a collection of stories about crucial moments and decisions. Alongside my story, you can read a personal account of a WWII officer’s critical order to fire, a comic take on martial relations as retirement looms, maternal perfectionism, devious pharmaceutical plots, a gangster with a fast food addiction, and a schoolboy with an embarrassing nun fetish.

Visit Shooter’s site, click Subscriptions, and order your copy today!







Read “Blood Melody” in Black Denim Lit


Today is a momentous day for two reasons: 1) My short story “Blood Melody” has been published in the latest issue of Black Denim Lit; and 2) they paid me for it, which is a first! You better believe there will be champagne and cheesecake tonight (my tradition of indulgence when I’m published).

Money is a milestone for any writer and it took me a while to get here, but not for lack of writing or producing work. Rather, I had to recognize the worth of my work. When you do something you love, you often just want it to be out there. You’ll do it for free simply for exposure and publicity. But once you’ve honed your craft and you start to realize how much time, effort, and passion you put into it, you start to hope that someone will pay you for it.

Of course, that’s when insecurity rears its ugly head. Will someone really pay me for this? I mean, I think it’s good, but…And how much do I deserve? That’s the worst part–putting a price tag on your work.

But it’s also the most important part. Not necessarily the price tag, but the part where you realize your work is worth something. Once you get there, it gets a lot easier.

Now, I’m proud to say I won’t settle for publishing my work for free, because it’s so important to me. And I want my work to be recognized. My imagination, my work, my craft, all of it–is worth it.

“Blood Melody” is worth it. It’s about a hungry siren, a ship at the wrong place at the wrong time, and the thin line between humanity and animal instinct. Hop on over to Black Denim Lit’s website to read the stories or download the issue to your e-reader–for free!




Tonight, there will be champagne and some funky music on my turntable, because as of today, I am a published author! This has been a goal of mine since I was in, oh, the fourth grade. It feels surreal. And damn good.

A few months ago, Penduline Press announced they were accepting submissions for their 10th issue, which would be Seven Deadly Sins-themed. My interest was immediately piqued. I revisited Dante’s Inferno, allowed my imagination to stretch, and typed up a rough draft in a matter of hours. I’m really proud of this work.

Here’s a little sample of “Invidia.” Click the link at the bottom of the page to read the full story through Penduline Press. And while you’re there, check out the other brilliant work that was accepted for this edition!

“As Pauline fed the rusty wire through her needle, she examined her patient, a man wearing black loafers and a navy blue suit, and sighed. She’d only be able to fix one of his trespasses during her procedure, though she supposed it was the more important of the two. She’d leave someone “up there” to deal with this man’s inability to match the right shoe with the right suit. Pauline smiled dryly at her joke and gave the wire a quick tug to make sure it was attached securely to the needle before placing it in the oversized pocket of her yellow apron.
        Pauline cocked her head to the side, narrowed her eyes, and took a step closer to her patient. Her footstep echoed heavily through the space and Pauline rolled her eyes. The echo wasn’t scientifically possible. She knew this because she knew that literally nothing existed beyond the eight-foot circumference of the harsh medical lighting.
        Once, between procedures, Pauline had stepped outside of the circle of light and simply dissolved. She’d felt it, felt her molecules begin to dissipate until she imagined herself the foam on top of a freshly-poured glass of root beer. When she floated back into the light, she reassembled and vowed never to leave it again. There was no point. There was nothing beyond the ring of light but the promise of an unsettling shift in being. Besides, she was dead, she had a debt to pay, and if she ever wanted to ascend, she needed to concentrate on her work.
        Pauline took two small steps toward the man on the table, which were accompanied by booming echoes.
        “Honestly,” she said, her voice also reverberating off of nothing, “I don’t need the ambience. It doesn’t make me comfortable; it makes me twitchy. And when I’m working on eyelids, I’m pretty sure you want my hands to be steady.”
        Pauline waited a moment, staring out into the darkness about her, and then took another step. Silence greeted her like an old friend. She smiled and gave a single nod out to the darkness, a thank you.
        Pauline approached the man on her table and licked her cracked lips.
        “Let’s see what we’ve got today,” she said, placing a hand over the man’s beating heart and closing her eyes…”

To read “Invidia” in its entirety, click HERE!