Come out and have a beer with me this Sunday!
Cover for the upcoming anthology SCOURGE OF THE SEAS OF TIME (AND SPACE) from Queen of Swords Press edited by Catherine Lundoff. My space opera pirate story TENARI will appear alongside other fantastic tales! Due out in December of this year.
Opening line: “The thing that surprised Captain Kathleen Reed the most about commanding a pirate ship was the amount of paperwork it involved.”
Uncanny Magazine Issue 24- Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction!
Coming September 4th, THE 24th ISSUE OF THE 2016, 2017, & 2018 HUGO AWARD-WINNING UNCANNY MAGAZINE, the Disabled People Destroy Science Fiction special issue!!!
Includes my personal essay WE ARE NOT DAREDEVIL, EXCEPT WHEN WE ARE DAREDEVIL
All of the content will be available in the eBook version on the day of release.
The free online content will be released in 2 stages- half on day of release and half on October 2.
The contracts are signed, so –
Sold reprint rights for short story “Tenari” to Queen of Swords Press for their upcoming anthology SCOURGE OF THE SEAS OF TIME (AND SPACE).
Sold reprint rights for short story “Fast Gliding Down the Rails” to new magazine THE UNFIT for their debut issues.
So when my friends start asking me what I want for my birthday next year, I am going to tell them they should pool their money and send me off on a writing retreat so I can have some focused time alone to finish a few projects.
And when I say writing retreat, I’m not asking for enough money to spend a month in a some villa in Italy or chateau in France, or a monastic retreat, or an old mansion in New England with its own cemetery, or a cabin the north woods, because those places, while wonderful, would just distract me.
All ya’ll can just chip in and send me to a nice mid-to-low price hotel or even motel. A Holiday Inn Express would be fine. As long as it has a bed, a place for me to set up my laptop and extra monitor, a place to settle with my notebook and pens, a coffee maker, and quick and easy food options nearby (free breakfast in the morning is a bonus) in a relatively safe place for me to walk around to stuff, I’m set.
I just want that for a mere four days.
Even though it is impractical, that’s what I want for my birthday next year.
I will tell you this thing: Everything Anthony Bourdain wrote and said about being a line cook is true and if you listened to him closely enough, you know that was where his heart was; on the line. Everything he left out about working on the line is true as well, but unless you’ve worked in the business you probably don’t want to know; trust me on this. I say this as an ex-line and short order cook who loved the job and loved working with food.
Bangbang Apple Pie
911. What is your emergency?
Bangbang apple pie.
Bangbang they gotta die.
Bangbang shoot’em all.
Black skin – brown skin – anything but white man skin and bangbang.
Cops man, you gotta treat’em like a live hand grenade with the pin pulled. Might go off any moment. Kill you – kill everyone around you – kill everything you love – kill the world – and never be held accountable or responsible, because they are infallible – because the blue wall, baby – because they will shoot you dead and say. “He was a threat – She was resisting – I was scared. Fuck, I was bored and they were probably thugs anyway.”
And all the video and outrage and evidence? That shit doesn’t matter. Unarmed? Back turned? On the ground? Handcuffed? Bangbang and juries just shrug and say, “Not guilty,” go home to their American flags – picket fences – SUVs – bring in the dog, put out the cat, dispose of the leftover meatloaf, and have another piece of apple pie, God bless America.
Black? Bangbang .
Muslim? Sikh? Probably a terrorist.
Now white man, white man can hold a gun in his hand, screaming profanities and fifteen cops will force a stand-off – talk him down – maybe taz him if they just gotta but that’s a damned shame and they might have – probably were – treading on that patriot’s rights, because he is obviously a bald-eagle loving son of John Wayne and George Washington who believes in freedom and America and apple pie, boo-ya!
You can tell the white man is a son of liberty by the American – or maybe Confederate – flag flying in the back window of his truck and all the freedom defending semi-automatic rifles he owns. Wave their flags – wave their guns – wave their penis’ of American patriotic breeding. It’s American as apple pie, baby!
Black man – well, black man can have a carry permit, tell the cop he has a gun somewhere in the car, not have the gun anywhere in sight and – Bangbang bangbang bangbang bang. But white man holding a gun? Clearly not a threat.
Well, unless he’s obviously mental ill. Then bangbang. Or disabled. Bangbang. I mean fuck, they’re just useless broken cripples and a drain on society’s resources and sucking up the tax dollars of good hard working Americans, right?
Lesbian? Gay? Bi? Trans? Queer? Asexual? Pansexual? Baby Jesus says Bangbang.
Oh and women. Especially women of color, women who are mental ill, women who dared to walk outside wearing a burka or miniskirt or a pair of jeans and modest blouse – bangbang – because after all, they are just dirty dirty wimmins with their dirty dirty wimmin’s parts. Shoot’em all. Bangbang
Homeless vets, disabled vets, vets with PTSD – fuck they should have come back whole like John Wayne or died like American patriots of freedom on the battlefield, smoking M-16 in their hands, surrounded by a thousand dead bodies of America’s enemies. Bangbang.
Family Pet? Bangbang and double bonus points extra big slice of apple pie ala mode if you gun that pet down in front of the family, boo-ya bangbang!
Black bodies – brown bodies – broken bodies – queer bodies – women’s bodies – Bangbang, the bodies hit the floor, the pavement, the ground, the grave.
And sure, you can gather, protest, carry a sign, sing, chant, link arms, stop traffic, We Shall Overcome Kumbaya!
But the moment one cop decides he’s afraid, the whole riot gear wearing, armored car driving, jack-booted phalanx can just draw weapons and bangbangbang because you are threat to their safety–to the rich man’s safety–to order and justice and the American way of life.
God Bless America. Bangbang. What did you do to get yourself shot today?
Did you fail to instantly comply with four conflicting orders screamed at you while guns were waved in your face? Did you drive while black? Did you go outside your home while mentally ill? Did you take your disabled body out where good God-fearing Americans had to actually see you? Did you love a person with a different skin color from you or the same genitalia as you? Did you not believe in God, Baby Jesus, and the American Way?
Is that why the cops had to shoot you?
Remember, you deserved to be shot you criminal you thug you gimp you druggie you commie Nazi hippie liberal socialist fascist democrat welfare-queen who probably eats bald eagles in a satanic caricature of Thanksgiving.
The cops had to shoot you and the cops are not guilty of any crime. The cops are not even guilty of just poor fucking judgment. They are never guilty. They are never guilty because they are America and America cannot be guilty. America the Beautiful is beautiful – as long as you are white – male – healthy – wealthy – wave your flag – wave your gun – wave your penis ramrod straight copulate – but only in the Baby Jesus approved missionary position and only for the express purpose of breeding more white male able-bodied American patriots to defend truth, justice, and the apple pie.
Black? Brown? Native? Asian? Muslim? Sikh? Jew? Hindu? Pagan? Atheist? Mentally ill? Disabled? Autistic? Lesbian? Gay? Bi? Trans? Queer? Asexual? Pansexual? Woman? Homeless? Poor? Pet? Just a little too slow to react?
Bangbang apple pie.
Bangbang they gotta die.
Bangbang shoot’em all.
911. What is your emergency?
My latest reading at DreamHaven Books. We had just been in a motor vehicle accident and I probably should have been at urgent care, but the show must go on, right? I may sound a little addled, because concussion.
Honestly, who needs to remember words –
like that stuff you drink at Christmas. You know,
you put nutmeg on it.
Numbers are overrated. Sure, I have
a date of birth a zip code a bar code. Somewhere.
Five five blah blah numbers numbers
Staggering around as the world wobbles
And cancelling all your social fun? Fun Fun
Something T-Bird away yeah yeah yeah
you put nutmeg on it
Endlessly sitting and staring at the wall
the blurriness softens the world, turning it fuzzy grey
at the edges, easier to swallow
Swallow. That’s a bird, right?
You put nutmeg on it
The wheels on the bus we all fall down blind mice
Who needs a coat to go out in the the –
The succotash? The sassafras? The sriracha?
You know, you put nutmeg on it.
I will at Planetfest on Saturday the 17th for the 7pm showing. I am very pleased to have collaborated on one of the short plays with the fantastic Fox B. Barrett. Come out and see our radio play within a stage play, “The Cursed Script.”
From the Website:
Have you ever imagined a world whose laws of physics differ from our own? Spend an evening watching six brand-new, never-before-seen plays in the genres of sci-fi, fantasy, and supernatural horror! Spun out of the country’s only recurring open-mic dedicated to speculative fiction, our dozen playwrights feature both established authors and up-and-coming talent. Come on down, and let them tell you about places of which you’ve never dreamt.
Follow the Link for more details and tickets