I wish I can make an effort to update this blog more, but I'm just not into "sharing" my life. I'm sure I've said it many times before. Part laziness. Part shyness. Part internet paranoia. Is there ever much to say anyway? I haven't had much published lately. I'm starting to think my email is broken. I haven't gotten any rejections in the mail, let alone acceptances, and I have over a dozen submissions sent out. My novella is in literary limbo so I've started to submit that elsewhere. Eh, at least a rejection will let me know the world is still out there...

Poetry Quarterly

Whoo, what a dry spell I've been under. It seems like forever since I've had something published. Leave it to Poetry Quarterly to break the spell. I've had quite a few poems published here. Little steep of a price for the collection, but if you've got the dough, please consider supporting some great struggling artists like myself who can't even afford to see their own stuff in print.

Pif Magazine

Hearing a lot of Gene Loves Jezebel on the radio the past couple days...odd...


...anyway...


My poem, "Humdrum", has been published in Pif Magazine. This is the second time I've been published in this well-established 'zine. Please check it out.


In other news, the Graham Chapman essay is looking sweet. Can you believe I've written eleven drafts, though? Never, never satisfied. It looks like it's starting to flow now, unless that's the gin talking...

Trysts of Fate

My poem, "Remember When" is the featured poem (!) in the new issue of Trysts of Fate, which is another publication released by Alban Lake.


Read this little blurb that was on their blog"


Edited by the scrumptious yet occasionally spooky Lee Ann Story Sikora, Trysts of Fate for August 2014 features paranormal romance tales that will galvanize, cauterize, synthesize, and supersize you [though not necessarily in that order]. “@Echo Off” by Lorraine Pinelli Brown will win over even readers who believe, albeit mistakenly, that paranormal romance tales have nothing for them. Then there’s “The Whorehouse Ghosts” by James David Park; “The Facebook Account of So Young Paik” by Timothy E. Nolan; “Roses In December” by Jackie Neel, and much more. The featured poem, “Remember When” by Stephanie Smith, alone is worth the price of admission. :)

Monty Python Live (Mostly)

Went and saw the cinema (re)broadcast of the final Monty Python show last night that was held on Sunday.


To me, the evening was bittersweet.


The show was lovely. Well put together. Beautiful sets and costumes. I love how everything blended together in true Pythonesque fashion. The guys were better than I expected. Truly, I thought I was going to see a bunch of old men making fools of themselves. On the contrary. Sure, they are old men, but they tried. Eric Idle and Terry Gilliam, I thought, were especially in top form. Still quite energetic for their age. Michael Palin as well. Now, John Cleese, I thought, was fine, but he sure sounded like there was an elephant sitting on his chest. I thought he was going to keel over during the Anne Elk sketch. And Terry Jones just seemed tired. Understandably so. I loved how they were able to laugh at themselves when they got sidetracked at some points (like during the Parrot Sketch or when Eric's mustache was falling off during Nudge Nudge). I admit, they've become such lovable old men. Hah hah.


So for all the laughs, how was it I left feeling empty and depressed??


All the glitter and comedic reverie seemed only to mask a void. An unfairness that Graham wasn't there. He wasn't there to shout "BURMA!". Wasn't there to sing "Christmas in Heaven". Or to cry he didn't like Spam. Or to dress all spiffy in a white tux and say his goodbyes along with the rest of them. It just didn't seem fair at all. So I don't know if anyone else in the (rather small) audience saw me crying during the "Christmas in Heaven" number right into "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life". I frankly don't care. I imagined him up there. Wondered what he would have been like at 73 years old.


So, Graham, I will drink a gin to you, my favorite Python. Too special for this world. Bit the dust too soon.

The Horror Zine and other ramblings

The Horror Zine has recently released its first print issue and features poems of mine that were in a recent online issue.


So, anyway, I am terrible at blogging, I've come to realize. Okay. Maybe not terrible, but I don't like doing it. It's easy to post links and say "here you go, read this". I don't feel comfortable telling strangers the details of my private life. I can barely write about...writing.


Of course, I've been juggling a lot. The novel. Poems. Short story. Article. And it all seems a struggle. I've tried setting a goal with the novel of 1000 words a day and most days I can't seem to even get to a quarter of that goal. I'm tired of not having a desk, of my back hurting after a half hour of sitting on the floor, hunched over the coffee table (I write longhand). That's the truth. I don't blame this fully for my lack of goal achievement, but it's a factor. Too many distractions. Not knowing where to go next with the story. Stressing about the day. It's all there....See, this is why I don't like to blog...


I worked more on my Graham Chapman article tonight. See, the problem I have with this one is, everytime I work on it I wish it can be longer, that I can write a book on it. But how do you write a book on someone you never met and died when you were a kid? How do you write a book on someone that's been written about before? I mean, there's no fresh info. He's not going to talk to me from the Great Beyond and tell me secrets never told. I have too much info for an article, yet not nearly enough for a book. So there. But I've found it's something I ever-increasingly enjoy writing about. Oh well.

The Clockwise Cat

About a week late with this posting, but I have two new poems up at The Clockwise Cat .


This past month has been rather crappy, I must admit, but I suppose if I am ever going to get out of this seemingly lifelong rut, I must get my ass in gear. I need to write more short stories. I need to set a goal of at least (for now) a thousand words a day on the novel. I need to read more. Prisoners break out of prison all the time. And that I must. Sounds trite, but I wish there were more hours in the day (nor night, rather haha).