Tuesday, December 29, 2020

December News and 2020 Roundup

Hello, friends! Well, this is it. If you’re here, you’ve made it to the end of 2020.

This year hasn’t been wholly terrible. I published two books.

 

The first, Languages, First and Last, is a poetry collection from Cyberwit Press. It's also available on Amazon.


The second, Going Forth by Day, is the sixth and final book of The Order of the Four Sons series, a project that took me thirteen years. Even if I’d done nothing else this year, I am grateful to have given my beloved characters the send-off they deserved. (At least, I sure hope I did.) It is available in ebook and paperback on Amazon, Smashwords, and other sites. 

Also this year, 58 of my poems appeared in 26 magazines and other venues, including journals in Turkey, Northern Ireland and India. I received a Best of the Net nomination and two Pushcart Prize nominations. Not too shabby!

Here is a list of my December news and publications:


I’m absolutely thrilled to share that the inaugural issue of Gleam: A Journal of the Cadralor came out this month! It has my poems, “Alligator Tooth” and the Pushcart-nominated “Acheiropoieta.” So grateful to the creators of the wonderful new poetic form, the cadralor, and the rest of the editorial team for making this happen!


A little holiday poem, “Christmas Fudge,” is up at the Rye Whiskey Review. Thank you to editor John Patrick Robbins for continuing to give my work a home.


“Estate Sale” appeared in the latest issue of The Racket. Thank you to editor Noah Sanders for publishing me again.


“Is” appeared in The Dope Fiend Daily. This is the first of five that will appear in The Dope Fiend. My thanks to editor Scott Simmons.

I was one of the featured readers at the December Poets & Pints reading, a venue provided by the Cracked Walnut in Minneapolis, Minnesota. You can catch the reading on YouTube. Thank you to Trinity Fritz Lawrence and Tony Plocido for hosting—I hope to read on your stage in person one day!



I am also pleased to share that I received a new five-star review on Requiem for a Robot Dog. Thank you, Scott!


And finally, I am thrilled to share that I have new cover art for my short story, La Tutayegua, available as an ebook through Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, and other digital sites. Writers, if you’re in the market for cover art, I highly recommend Rebecca Kenney. Her rates are very affordable and she will work with you to create a custom cover you love.


Thank you to all my readers for visiting my blog and supporting my work! I wish you all the best for an excellent New Year.

 

 

 


Friday, December 4, 2020

Poetry Review: Mr. Rogers kills fruit flies by Scott Ferry

When a collection opens with a quote by Jorge Luis Borges, and a poem called “Gabriel Garcia Marquez changes a diaper,” you know you’re in for something delightfully surreal. It is divided into sections that make good on that promise: Mr. Rogers kills fruit flies, How to cross eyelid bridge and Divination by. 

In the first section, Joseph Campbell, Jane Goodall, the titular Won’t You Be My Neighbor guy, and other recognizable faces appear, carrying out tasks that are sometimes mundane (flossing), and sometimes not so mundane (riding a camel). The bemused and plaintive bizarre bazaar tone reminds me of Eliot’s “The Wasteland”: “What year is this?/Phillipe, are you here, back there on one of those swaying beasts?” (I love Eliot, so this makes me happy.) But the surrealness is not without purpose—Gabriel Garcia Marquez gives us the opportunity to consider fatherhood and mortality; Jacques Cousteau and Jane Goodall, as you would imagine, let us consider the world and our place in it; Marie Curie is a meditation on science that both elevates and diminishes, giveth and taketh away. 

How to cross eyelid bridge is subtitled Titles of children’s books that will never be written. Ferry captures images that are both childish (imaginary creatures like Sasquatches, bees, school, biting), and the attendant dread and exhilaration. The Divination by section explores the many, many means of trying to tell the future—brontomancy, clediomancy, entomancy. There is no end to the strange rituals people have concocted to try to figure out where we’re going, but the divination poems force us to look inside ourselves. One of my favorites is “Nephomancy: by clouds,” which says: 


I used to dream of walking into them

by climbing up my cement wall. 

I didn’t know what I would do there, 

I was five. I just knew there 

could be a place without yelling, 

or sirens, or people.


Heartbreaking, because it speaks to where we came from, as well as where we are now. Who doesn’t occasionally dream about a celestial realm where we can be free?  

Throughout the collection, the language is lush and gorgeous. Ferry is an RN and scientific, especially medical terms, are woven throughout, which provides a nice counterbalance to the fanciful. What I like best about these poems is the way they challenge you to step outside yourself, outside of your ordinary reality. This collection is definitely an escape worth pursuing. I heard in some English class or other that it's the poet's job to elevate the mundane and to make the fantastic accessible. On both counts, Ferry knocks it out of the park. 

Mr. Rogers kills fruit flies is available from the Main Street Rag bookstore

Learn more about Scott Ferry and his work here

 


Tuesday, November 24, 2020

November News

Hello, friends! November has been a big month! 


I’m grateful to share that I have been nominated for my first Pushcart Prize. The Winnow Magazine nominated my poem, “Nagual,” which was published earlier this month. What an incredible honor! Many thanks to editor Rachel Crosbie and the rest of the Winnow team.  

Here are some other places my work has appeared this month:


Here Be Dragons” is up on the Rye Whiskey Review. Thank you, as always, to editor John Patrick Robbins for giving my work a home.


“Inauspicious” and “Now Hirings  losers” appears in the inaugural edition of Last Leaves magazine. Many thanks and congrats to editors Cailey Johanna Thiessen, Kiera S. Baron and Maina Chen for launching this cool new mag!


I received my contributor’s copies of Mantis magazine (Issue 18), put out by Stanford University. This one was a long time coming—Covid delayed printing. Copies can be ordered here.

 


Eyebrows” is up at Heroin Love Songs. There is also a print edition of this magazine to look forward to. Many thanks to editor Jack Henry.


The Twelfth of Never” appeared in The Dope Fiend Daily, editor Scott Simons.



In case you missed it, I contributed three poems to the KU virtual art show, From the Ashes: How we survived in the season of tumult. The poems, “Confection,” “Forever Home,” and “Happy Trails” include a recording of me reading the work, accompanied by my photography. If you swing by, please be sure to sign the guest book!


And finally, I’m stoked to share new cover art for my horror novella, Our Miss Engel—thank you to designer Rebecca Kenny for the gorgeous work!

Our Miss Engel is only 99 cents on Amazon.

It’s also available on Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, and other ebook sites.

 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and thank you for reading! 

 

 

 

 


Monday, November 2, 2020

From the Ashes Virtual Art Show


Friends, the University of Kansas virtual art show, From the Ashes: How we survived in the season of tumult, is now live. I contributed three poems: “Confection,” “Forever Home,” and “Happy Trails.” For each, I did a short video of me reading the poems with accompanying photography.

Main page with link to gallery: 

http://www.kumc.edu/school-of-medicine/gme/creativity-as-wellness.html

Facemask Contest Link:

https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/LDP8ZSV

If you would be so kind, I would appreciate a vote for the face mask contest and/or the photography contest. Otherwise, I hope you peruse all the cool stuff the artists have contributed.

There will also be two Zoom sessions (information listed on the main page), so you can chat with the artists. Hope you’ll consider joining those as well.


 


Wednesday, October 28, 2020

October News

Happy October, friends! I'm pleased to share my monthly publication news.  


First and most exciting things first: my poem, "Return," has been nominated by The Wild Word magazine for a 2020 Best of the Net. Many thanks to editor Kusi Okamura for this great honor! 
 
Return

In the old neighborhood, I walk. I return
to the scenes of my beginnings. Heroes
get origin stories. Characters
get backstory. We get only
decaying houses, an empty pool
where we used to swim
in little-girl bathing suits.
Mine was pink with stars.
It’s drained now, my water,
while my stars overflow
with my adult body. I remember
how I once slipped and scraped
my knees on this playground.
My skin is a part of this place.
I am a part of this place. I am
a part of something. It is a part
of me. These connections reawaken
like old neural pathways lighting up again,
like old streetlamps with new bulbs
burning brighter. Nearby,
I rent rooms where I live. We’ll call it
a home. I fill the tub. Fluttering shadows
of birds and butterflies come in
through the blinds. In the water,
I feel their shadows through the glass
like a weight across my skin.
They are descendants of old birds
and butterflies that have touched me before
with their shadows. You can drink
from the same river twice. You can
go home again.


My poem, “The Real Meaning of Inferno,” was showcased on the POETiCA REViEW’s website. In the acceptance letter, the editors, Mark A. Murphy and Kieran M. Conway said the poem was “sublime” and “nearly moved them to tears.” The poem will be included in the Spring 2021 edition, as well as nominated for a 2021 Best of the Net.


Four poems, “Happy Trails,” “Forever Home,” “Minor Arcana,” and “Homemade Wine” appeared in an issue of Madness Muse Press. Many thanks to editor John Compton. Madness Muse has given my work a home before in their Mermaid Mirror anthology, and I am pleased to see that they are now releasing a regular journal. 


The latest issue of The Racket included my poem, "Veladoras.” (It’s actually first in the magazine lineup!) Many thanks to editor Noah Sanders. Noah also accepted a poem called “Estate Sale,” which will appear in a later edition of The Racket. He said, “Both of [these poems] so succinctly capture a scene and an emotion and way of thinking that I love. This line in ‘Veladoras’ is particularly wonderful:
 
“St. Christopher got demoted,
but is accounted for nonetheless
alongside hominy and St. Jude.”
 
Thank you so much, Noah!
 

Once again, thank you to everyone for supporting my work. I hope you have a safe and happy Halloween!

Tuesday, September 29, 2020

September News

Happy fall, everyone! Here is my publication news for September:

"The Fable of the Tiger," appeared in the Rye Whiskey Review. Many thanks to editor John Patrick Robbins for continuing to give my work a home.

I had three poems in the latest issue of Fleas on the Dog: “Virtual Cloister” (reprinted from 1870 magazine), “All the West Side Girls Love Lou Diamond Phillips,” and “On loving a fat girl.” Poetry editor Hezekiah Scretch said, “Lauren Scharhag has a mouthful-surname but her poetry is extraordinary.” Thank you, sir, for the kind words and for sharing my poems with the world. I also really appreciate how this magazine gives contributors space to talk about our work, so if you read the poems, I hope you scroll down to see the artist’s notes.

Here is the link to the main journal, and here is a direct link to my three poems.

Thank you for reading! I hope you stay safe and well, and are enjoying the new season.  

 


Thursday, August 27, 2020

August News

Hi, folks. Things continue to be pretty quiet around here. I'm still social distancing as much as possible and trying to recover from the 13-year ordeal that was O4S.

This month, you can read my poem, "Supernatural," is in the latest issue of One Hand Clapping

Many thanks to editor Alan Humm for including my work.

I am also really psyched to share that one of my prison pen pals, Darrick Hernandez, has released his first poetry collection, A Kaleidescope of Poetic Thoughts, from Alien Buddha Press. 


Darrick and I have been corresponding for five years now, and I'm so proud of how far he's come with his work. Grab a copy on Amazon

Thank you, as always, for reading. Stay safe and well.






Thursday, July 30, 2020

July News

Hello, friends! I’m happy to share I’m back in the poetry saddle. Here is where you can find my latest work:


Many thanks to editor John Patrick Robbins at The Rye Whiskey for publishing a selection of poems. So far, “Dusk” and “Futility and Other Sins” have appeared. More to come. 


My poem, “Still,” appears in the Art in the Time of COVID-19 anthology, produced by San Fedele Press. The ebook is $4.99 and is a substantial volume of prose, poetry, and art. A portion of the proceeds will be donated to Doctors Without Borders. It’s also free if you have Kindle Unlimited. It hit #1 in new poetry releases. If sales continue to be good, a paperback issue will be released. Hope you grab a copy—it’s for a great cause.


And finally, I have two poems up at 1870, “Knowing You,” and “Virtual Cloister.” Big thanks to editor Jack Henry, who graciously said, "Your kind of work is why I started 1870."


I also just want to give a shoutout to everyone who’s purchased a copy of Going Forth by Day so far. I’m looking forward to hearing any feedback—it’s the last book of The Order of the Four Sons series, so I really hope readers feel I did the ending justice. As always, if you’re interested in a review copy, please feel free to hit me up.

 

 


Monday, June 29, 2020

June News

Hello, friends! This is the first time in a long time I haven't had a poetry publication to share. This is partly because COVID has delayed publication for many of the magazines, but also because I haven't been spending as much time on poetry. I've been focused on finishing Book VI-- which, if you missed my last post, is now here!



Going Forth by Day is now available as an ebook on Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes & Noble, and other retailers.

I'm working on the paperback, so I will share when that is available.

I am also pleased to share that my latest poetry collection, Languages, First and Last, received a five-star review from poet Ann Christine Tabaka:


Read the full review here.

Thank you, as always, for reading, and I hope to have some new work out next month. Stay safe and well.



Tuesday, June 16, 2020

Book VI is here!

Going Forth by Day, The Order of the Four Sons, Book VI is here!

Purchase the ebook at Amazon and Smashwords. It is pending release in Smashwords' extended catalog, which will mean it will soon be available on Barnes & Noble, the Apple bookstore, and other retailers. 

Paperback is still in the works-- I will let you know when it drops.




Synopsis

“Our world is a lie.”

On Cerulean, the war between the Order and Starry Wisdom has turned into a standoff. Since Starry Wisdom has begun to deploy chemical weapons, Commander Emily Hayes is no longer able to send teams in to attack Starry Wisdom targets. Starry Wisdom, despite having taken Colonel JD Garnett and the Oracle Alyssa Calderon prisoner, are unable to proceed with their plans—they still do not have the fourth segment of the Staff of Solomon. Can the geomancers find a solution to counteract the enemy’s poison gas before Starry Wisdom manufactures a new segment? Or can the team come up with a new plan?

In Corbenic, things seem to have returned to normal for now, though Prince Leopold faces pressure from his father to marry. In Carcosa, things are looking more dire than ever, even with the harsh but capable MJ-12 Agent Aaron Vickers as the new boss of the five towns. Aid comes in the form of some unexpected allies. And back on Earth, things are also looking pretty apocalyptic—the sort of cosmic entropy that has affected Carcosa for decades seems to be leaking into Earth. Time and reality are starting to warp. The Order’s construct, the Field of St. Matthew, is in danger of collapsing, or worse.  

Four worlds hang in the balance—the fate of four worlds may determine the fate of all others. Synchronicities abound, the multiverse works in mysterious ways, and help can come when you least expect it.

Read the exciting conclusion to The Order of the Four Sons series, thirteen years in the making.


Excerpt
“A widow...” King Henri Sarpedonne echoed, stroking his beard. “I see. Under the new laws, the lady in question would be her own mistress and keeper of her own property. There is no male head of house to contend with. Should the engagement be broken, there would be no insult given.”
Lord Christophe Ecarteur inclined his head.
Henri peered at him. “Very clever, boy, I’ll give you that. And what of the lady herself? An acquaintance of yours, I presume?”
“Yes, Your Wisdom. Lady Rosemonde Salacia Charnabon Catreus. Her late husband was Lord Stefan Catreus.”
“How old is she?”
“Thirty, Your Wisdom.”
A frown creased Henri’s brow. “Thirty?”
“Still well within childbearing years and in excellent health. She had a son by Lord Catreus, a good, strong lad. Fourteen. He’s at the Lodge and I’m told he’s an exceptional student.”
“Hm. And what of Lord Catreus’ inspirer?”
“Lord Nicolas Busiris. He has no objections, Your Wisdom.”
The King gave Christophe a hard look. “If this is some sort of scheme—”
Christophe shook his head. “No scheme, Your Wisdom. You asked for an engagement, and I have secured one.”
“Not just an engagement,” the King barked. “I want him married before the New Year, do you understand? I don’t care who it is, so long as she can give him heirs. There comes a time when we can no longer ask the people to wait upon us; we must wait upon them. If I have to drag a woman in off the streets myself, by the Architect, I will see him wed before sundown on the thirty-second of Almatheion. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly, Your Wisdom.”
“Then Lady Catreus is still your choice?”
“Yes, Your Wisdom.”
“Very well.” The King sat back. As he did, his face seemed to relax, shedding the royal mien. And just like that, he was simply Henri again, a concerned father. “When will you tell him?”
Christophe sighed. “I had planned to go there directly.”

* * *

Taking his leave of the King’s chambers, Christophe went to do exactly that. But as he reached the hallway that led to both his and Leo’s chambers, he found himself taking a slight detour.
Very quietly, he edged his own door open and peeked in. There was no one in the front parlor, so he stood for a moment, listening. He could just make out Madeline’s voice. Brightening, he made his way to the bedroom, where he found her, stretched out on the bed with little Angelique. The two of them were surrounded by toys—rattles, pacifiers, a jointed wooden bear, a stuffed rabbit. Angelique was kicking and gurgling happily as Madeline dangled toys for her to grab at. Catching the rabbit’s ear in a little flailing fist, Angelique stuck it in her mouth.
Christophe’s heart swelled at the sight of them, and for a moment, he simply watched from the doorway. Madeline looked over and smiled. Leaning back down, she whispered in the baby’s ear, “Who is that? Who is that over there? Is that Papa?”
Joining them on the bed, he bent to kiss his daughter. “Hello, little one. Hello, my beautiful girl. Papa’s home.”
Angelique grabbed his nose. He and Madeline laughed. Picking Angelique up, he cradled her carefully. She sucked contentedly at one of his fingers, eyes half-closed, long lashes sweeping her cheeks.
Madeline rested her chin on Christophe’s shoulder, so they were both looking down at her. “She is so good. So happy. The governess says she is a joy to take care of—hardly makes a peep.”
“Well, she is only two months old yet. I can still hold out hope for a little hellion.” Christophe stroked the soft red fuzz on top of her head. She was almost entirely her mother’s daughter-- her features, her mouth, the shape of her face, all Madeline’s. But her eyes were undeniably his, the olive coloring that was so distinct to old families like the Ecarteurs.
Christophe stayed with them for as long as he could. When he could put it off no longer, he kissed them both, rose, and went over to the door that led to Leo’s chambers.

* * *

Inside, one would never have guessed that it was a fine autumn morning. The curtains were drawn. A single crystal lamp burned at Leo’s desk.
Leo himself was also at the desk. When Christophe entered, ordinarily, he would be able to see Leo in profile, but at the moment, all he could make out was the top of his head, surrounded as he was by books, scrolls, papers, atlases and inkstands. More books were stacked on the floor around him. The only sound was the steady scratching of his pen as he wrote. His eyes were almost totally obscured by a pair of emerald glasses.
Christophe shook his head. Some men would drown their sorrows in drink, others in women. But Leo? Leo drowns his sorrows in books. He shut the door louder than necessary. “I’m back.”
Without raising his head, Leo said, “I have found the most fascinating passage in Hyperboreios’ journals. It contains alchemical formulae that no one has seen in over eight hundred years. When I finish translating it, I believe it will be most efficacious in manipulating the structure of crystal matrices.”
For a moment, Christophe could only stare at him. “I paid a visit to Lady Catreus.”
“Ah, yes. And how is Lady Catreus?”
“She is your fiancée.”
Leo’s pen did not even pause. “Very well.”
“That’s it? ‘Very well’? That’s all you have to say?”
“What would you have me say?”
“That you have more than a passing interest in the woman that you will be producing children with!”
“You wish me to lie to you, then?”
“No, I don’t wish you to lie. I wish you to respond.”
“I have responded. If Lady Catreus is your choice, then I’m sure she will make a fine wife. Make whatever arrangements you deem appropriate. I will agree to all of them. In fact, I need not be consulted. You know I trust you implicitly.” The sound of scribbling continued.
Outraged, Christophe strode over to the desk, yanked the pen out of Leo’s hand and threw it. It clattered against the wall and broke, spilling ink onto the rug. Then he knocked the stacks of books off the desk, kicked at the ones on the floor so papers fluttered about like pigeons. “Damn you, look at me!”
For a moment, Leo simply sat, arms still on the desk. Then, very slowly and deliberately, he turned his head and raised his eyes to Christophe’s. “Are you quite finished?”
His cold tone was only slightly diminished by the ridiculous glasses he wore. Christophe tore them off his face. “Are you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Now you are lying.”
Sighing, Leo leaned back in his chair. “She’s gone. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to have hope!”
“She is a seer. If she said she is not coming back, then she is not. Accept it.”
“She’s wrong. She will come back, I know she will! How can she not?”
“Any number of ways.”
“Well, do not think of them because they are not going to happen!”
“Really? And how is it that you have gained this insight?”
“She will come back,” Christophe repeated stubbornly. “I know it. She has to, because I will it so!”
Leo looked at him pityingly, despairingly. “Christophe—”
“She will come back if I have to go Cerulean and bring her back myself!”
“Do not be absurd, old man. You have a daughter,” Leo stood up. “Do not even think of gallivanting off to some strange, foreign world that is currently under siege! Even if you had some way of locating her, which you do not; even if you had some way of coercing her to return, which you do not; even if there was some reason to believe that she is mistaken about her prophecy, which there is not.”
They were already standing close, but Christophe rose up so they were practically nose-to-nose. “She’s been wrong before. She couldn’t See that—that creature that murdered her own father! She is not infallible, I tell you!”
“You cannot compare a master magician who is able to make himself so thoroughly obfuscated that even the most talented seer we have ever encountered was unable to detect him, and this situation. It is not the same thing.”
“You’ve given up on her! Why would you do that?” Christophe’s voice turned pleading. “Why would you give up on this?”
Leo rested his hand on his inspirer’s shoulder, his tone softening. “There are many throughout the world who, when a person they hold dear is gone, would continue to set a place for them at the table in the belief that somehow, the deceased is going to return. I am not one of them. I do not have the luxury of giving vent to grief and losing control. Moreover, there are certain realities in life that must be faced.” Christophe started to look away. Gently, Leo cupped his cheek to turn him back. “Do you remember how Endymion would look for James everywhere? Do you remember how disconcerting it was when he would call me to his bedside, searching for remnants of my grandfather in me? I am not going to do that. I am not going to hide from this.”
Christophe shook him off. “She is not dead yet. Stop speaking as if she were.”
“There is no reason to assume that.”
“I think you’d feel it.”
“In my experience, one does not feel the life or death of another simply because one wishes to, or because one is close to them. Unless, of course, one of them is a seer. And the one person qualified to offer such an opinion has already spoken on the matter.”
All at once, Christophe rounded on him. “I’ll tell you why you are so quick to give up on her! It’s because you do not feel that you are worthy of it! That’s it, isn’t it? I know you and your self-flagellating ways! You think this is somehow your fault. You think you’re not worthy. You would never let yourself love or be loved in such a way.”
“That is no longer relevant.”
“It is completely relevant. If we found out that she was dead and you knew where her body was, what would you do? You would go get her and bring her back here, wouldn’t you?”
Helplessly, Leo shook his head. “Your point?”
“My point is that it matters. It is relevant-- the love you have for her is relevant! It doesn’t stop being relevant just because she is absent.” Christophe turned away, both hands to his head. “I can’t stand you like this!”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, very softly, Leo said, “If we knew where her body was, right now, this instant . . . yes. I would have her brought back to Corbenic--”
Aghast, Christophe turned to him. “You would have her brought back?”
“-- and I would have her buried next to her father.”
“You have given up on her!”
“Christophe—”
“I won’t have it, Leo! I won’t have it!” Christophe’s voice rose. “You can’t give up!”
“She’s GONE!” Leo shouted over him. “If I have no hope, it’s because she took it with her!”
Breathing hard, they backed away from each other.
For a moment, Christophe hung his head. It didn’t seem possible that he could look any more anguished—until he raised it again. When he spoke, his voice was almost too soft to hear. “You’re not the only one who loves her, you know.” 

Leo closed his eyes. “I know.”


Don't miss the bonus excerpt I shared in April.





Sunday, June 14, 2020

Celebrating Health in the Time of COVID

Yesterday, we celebrated Kidney Day. Eight years ago, Patrick received a transplant from a wonderful, selfless family who’d lost their daughter. We named the kidney Sidney, and Sid’s still going strong. It’s an odd year to be celebrating a health milestone. Even when it’s not 2020, health is something that we are always cognizant of, that we never take for granted. We survived three years of dialysis and all that went with it—disability, blood transfusions, shingles, hernias, pain, countless nights at the hospital, innumerable medications (some more helpful than others), bankruptcy, and foreclosure. (We did home dialysis, and just to give you an idea, home dialysis cost around $12,000 a month, and the dialysis machine was $65,000.) Recovery from the transplant took another year. So it’s hard to see people being so flippant about their own health and the health of others; it’s hard to see leaders who are more concerned about shareholders than they are about the health of non-millionaires.

This is something we are never not worried about. Antirejection medications are not a joke. They have to be taken on time, every time. They suppress the immune system which makes Patrick more vulnerable to contagions. Also, a transplant is not a cure—it’s only a treatment. Sidney could eventually give out. Medical advances have opened up more options, so we hope he never has to do dialysis again. I really, really hope we never have to worry about a ventilator for COVID.

So it was a quiet celebration at home, with take-out, chocolates, and binge-watching Killing Eve. We take a moment to reflect on the young woman whose passing has given us our own lives back, as well as improved the lives of at least fifty people. We reflect on her family, total strangers, who we can never repay. We appreciate everyone who is doing their part to protect each other. Thank you.

The day after transplant surgery, June 2012













Wednesday, May 27, 2020

May News

Hello, friends! I hope everyone is staying safe and well.



This month, my poems, "Ay de Mi," "Daybreak," and "The Unseeing" appeared in Setu Magazine: Western Voices edition. Setu is a bilingual magazine, a joint effort between Hindi and English-speaking writers. Special thanks to Scott Thomas Outlar, guest editor, for giving me the opportunity to submit my work.

I had other publications lined up over the next few months, but of course, due to COVID, several magazines have had to postpone releasing new issues. The Antarctic Poetry Exhibition has been postponed until 2021.


As of my April post, I had completed a first draft of Going Forth by Day, the sixth and final book of The Order of the Four Sons series. I have since completed all rewrites. I have one more round of edits to go, then I think it will be ready to prep for publication. I'm hoping to release by the end of next month or early July.

ICYMI, a new excerpt is available. I will do a cover reveal soon. If anyone would be interested in an advanced reader copy to read and review, please let me know. I would be happy to provide a copy.

Thank you, as always, for keeping up with my work. As we go into summer, maybe 2020 will give us a break.






Wednesday, April 29, 2020

April News

Hello, friends. I hope you are all staying safe and sane in these strange times.

First, ICYMI, my biggest news this month as I finally completed a first draft of Going Forth by Day, the sixth and final book of The Order of the Four Sons series. I shared a new excerpt earlier this month. I have started revisions this week. I'm hoping for a summer release. We'll see how it goes.


If you are looking for reading material, I received word this month that copies of my e-books are now available through libraries affiliated with Biblioboard as part of their Indie Author project. The books availble for checkout are: The Order of the Four Sons series, Our Miss Engel, The Winter Prince and West Side Girl & Other Poems.

If your local library isn't currently participating, Biblioboard has a form you can submit, requesting that your library be added so you can have access to indie titles. 

I had not been written or submitted any new poetry since November since I wanted to focus on finishing the novel. As it nears completion, I am looking forward to getting back to poetry.

I had other pieces that were scheduled to be published this month, but due to COVID, delays in printing were inevitable. Some of the publications are exploring offering online versions instead of print. I appreciate all the editorial and design folks out there working to keep art and literature flowing into the world-- now is the time that we need it most.

And thank you, dear readers, for all your support. Be well.

Friday, April 17, 2020

Poems for the Urban Soul: Concrete Oracles, by Matthew J. Lawler


Matthew Lawler’s collection of poems is, primarily, a love letter to Chicago. We are all irrevocably shaped by the places where we grew up. As such, these poems are also an urban anthropological catalogue, as well as an elegy, and a memoir. The collection opens with an opus about youthful, sun-drenched summers, playing basketball, smoking weed, trying not to get into trouble even as you test boundaries and try to figure out who you are.

These poems are unmistakably a young man’s journey, confronting gangs and violence, caught between the desire to be strong, to find acceptance somewhere, and to avoid terrible outcomes. Lawler introduces us to window washers, the homeless, bums, veterans, addicts, gang members, victims of violence, and brutal cops. There are suicides and absent fathers. It’s the great paradox of cities that people are most lonely when they’re surrounded by a sea of humanity. Lawler probes that idea by showing these relationships, how people try to connect even when it ends in heartbreak. But it also celebrates the deep love of platonic relationships between men, whether it’s between peers, mentor figures, (as in “The Drifter”), or depicting male family members like Uncle Len in “Everyday Heroes.”

This collection is a meditation on mortality. Aside from witnessing many friends die young, Lawler developed juvenile diabetes. Some of the poems detail his experiences with the onset of the illness and subsequent hospitalization. Nothing will give you an adult outlook like illness, which forces us to face our body’s frailty. “Broken Body” particularly resonated with me, describing his physical symptoms, being mired in “continents of sweat.”

Lawler’s bio said he started out with an interest in rap, and you can definitely see how these poems, with their rhymes and repetition, share DNA with rap lyrics. He also embraces old forms, like sonnets and villanelles. His work is blunt—he says what he means, there is no ambiguity.

As a city kid myself, these poems spoke to me of experiences that my cousins and uncles may have shared. I appreciated Lawler’s tenderness with subjects that are near and dear to my heart. If you’ve ever loved a city, if you grew up in one and still find faded graffiti on your soul, these poems are for you.

Concrete Oracles was published by Alien Buddha Press. It is available for purchase on Amazon.