Today is the day that Mojave River Press released its first issue of Mojave River Review. In it, among other compelling and eclectic work, you will find a flash fiction story that I wrote.
I do hope you enjoy reading this piece. I know I will enjoy reading the rest of this issue–if editor Michael Dwayne Smith’s foreword is any indication, Mojave River Review will be full of the good, weird, heartbreaking stuff that always makes me sing.
P.S. Stay tuned to some upcoming publications, including my inclusion in the upcoming print issue of pacificREVIEW.
I love you.
Some of my friends, family and fellow readers have been asking, so here goes. I have a few publications upcoming in early 2014, namely:
All flash fiction (approximately 500-1500 words) here. I dig flash, immensely. I also really, really dig what CHEAP POP and WhiskeyPaper are doing, including the continued innovation of their talented editors (Robert James Russell+Elizabeth Schmuhl and Leesa Cross-Smith+Loran Smith, respectively); and I certainly look forward to being part of what Mojave River Review has in store (for example, their press-end will release a fiction collection by Leesa Cross-Smith and a poetry collection by Daniel Romo later this year).
Stay tuned for more detailed updates, including links, updates to the publications page, a complete overhaul later in the year, and hopefully the addition of more work to share.
Filed under Feature, Writing
On we go. I am now a monkey in a treehouse. ”There in the Countryside, Many Miles Away” was recently published in Treehouse, Issue 7, Fall 2013.
I am looking forward to reading the other work in this issue and sharing what I like. Maybe you will too.
Below you will find the first short story I ever wrote, which I recently uncovered in my archives. It is from the 5th grade, and it is ridiculous, and I hope you will laugh like I did. I have reprinted it here, unabridged and unadulterated.*
IT CAME FROM PLUTO
by Martin Ceisel
Once there was a boy. His name was Greg. He didn’t really believe in anything. One day when Greg was going out for recess, the new boy came over to him. The new boy said, “Do you believe in aliens from outer space?” “No,” Greg said. “I don’t really believe in anything like that,” Greg said. Greg went out to recess. He played football and he scored 2 touchdowns. Greg’s team won 14-7. When Greg came in from recess, the new boy was waiting at his locker. The new boy asked if he could play football, Greg said yes. Greg went into his classroom. His class was starting math. Greg got his math book out. Greg started the page, and finished the page. He started to read right when the teacher said it was time for spelling.
I drift off … imagine a partisan in 1944.
He steps out to face a dark train headed at him full bore.
It won’t slow, no matter how its hungry patrons implore
It to turn back from the depths of hell it’s destined to explore.
He looks up, raises his weapon and opens on the engine.
Two rounds find the conductor, who shatters mid-sentence.
If it’s late June and the sun has already made its way through the marine layer and onto your skin by the 11 o’clock hour, it’s the right day to be by the water because the sun will be hot enough to bronze your skin and dry it after swimming, even if the Pacific Ocean is still a bit too cold for long dives. At least those were our criteria this morning, a tacit checklist quickly completed within a warm cozy built from fuzzy bed sheets.
Filed under Feature, Writing
quiver in the voice
weight shifting from foot to foot
In a way, I’ve walked into a thorny, gnarled forest.
It’s not the old-growth oaks and not even the thorns and tricky underbrush that trips up my step.
It’s the eyes watching me, those fiery opals embedded in the shadows.
They scrutinize me and they scrutinize them and they scrutinize each other.