One sultry day in September a strange cloud forms, fixes itself in the East, while a mass of unsettled air sets in. Soon after, a record breaking cold and hot clash, while two students kiss in the left wing of Berkeley Library. Hurricane Amelia hits, rolling in like a train, a scorned woman, thunderous, derailing lives, Eliot Feinemann’s embrace, and leaving the East in ruins. Only the West is spared. By a fateful twist, amidst the aftermath of destruction and carnage, two lovers marry and begin a family. But as the storm dissipates, so, too, do the hopes and dreams of Eliot and Lenore, forced apart again in the East and West, respectively, by another storm of equal power that seizes people, calls itself Western Alliance Reconstruction aka WAR. Although apart, the two remain connected by a delicate filament of memories as the present and earlier times intertwine like a web, the strands becoming more tangled and intricate as they encounter a depraved society, devoid of emotion and expression. They are buoyed only by a primal yearning for love, for each other, and for possible redemption.
Who will buy….querying begins. Two fulls out and under review.
Solicitation from Editor Shinjini Bhattacharjee of Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal who read my work and said this:
“I must admit that I have found an affinity with your literary ethos, primarily because your each outpouring continuously transgresses the emotions that first conceived it, and in the process,redefines the values that emotions attach to humanity’s confrontation with their being.”
Okay. I’m not sure exactly what that means or how I did it but promised to write more of it for a July publication. I’m thrilled and honored to have my writing evoke such intellectual and aesthetic engagement.
Got word that one of my creepier stories “Voices” was accepted for a December publication in HelloHorror. Very cool!
Meanwhile two stories “Lenore” and “Hideout” were reprinted in Eunoia Review and Linguistic Erosion, and first rights were given to The Milo Review and Pithead Chapel, respectively.
Moving along… Who will buy? Maybe no one. Maybe someone. Maybe no one.
I should write that flash fiction. The editor is expecting it.