Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The Lascaux Review

(If this cow horse isn't pregnant with a new literary review of hugely 
awesome potential, then I don't know my 17,000 BCE cave art.)

It's my honor and pleasure to announce the launch of a new literary journal, The Lascaux Review, a "showcase for emerging and established writers and artists." Stephen Parrish and Wendy Russ are at the helm of this new venture, and because of my deep-rooted faith in both of them, my expectations for Lascaux's future success could not be higher. They are just that good. 

My story, "Closer," was selected to be the first piece published in the review, which is something of a Leap Day miracle, possibly? Probably. At any rate, for those wondering: if you do have a piece accepted by The Lascaux Review, let me assure you that the editorial process is extremely professional and painless. Parrish has a sharp editorial eye, and he made my story stronger, for which I'm very grateful. 

And, oh yeah: they PAY! I was paid generously for my story from donations to the review, which is the first time that's happened since....well...


Seriously, I hope that many of you will consider a small donation. It's too seldom that writers and artists are compensated for their work, and I admire Lascaux for embracing such ambitions right out of the gate. I know they mean to make it grow. 

I also encourage you to submit. They are currently looking for fiction, poetry, art, essays and reviews. Submission information can be found here

I'm proud to be a part of this launch today. And I can't wait to see what the future has in store for them. 

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Deleted (A&E)

Pulled for submission

Story inspired by a Huffington Post article I read the other day. Painting by Picasso: "Girl Before A Mirror."

Monday, February 6, 2012


(Photo credit here.)

We lived underground
in a circular room 
where you fed me words
o'er song and sand     
and with every vowel
I tore and tongued 
my belly grew more concave
until I was grown heavy,
but pregnant with silence. 

And before I could say when
the dread contractions set in  
as I found myself like   
the primitive daughter
squatting over a caveman’s 
flint, bones and fire
where I will give birth
to an opal moon

again and 

*Thanks to our son for pointing out the nearly full moon to me last night. Sometimes I forget to look.