Fresh Fiction Rolling In
This just in: Fellow Cultie and talented writer Anthony David Jacques has a new story published here! Good stuff!
Also, if you’re looking for that weekly pick-me-up, check out his blog. Fresh fiction rolling in all the time!
“Out of Touch”: From Writer to Author
Brandon Tietz posted the story about his unique journey to becoming an official author over at the Cult. Check it out here.
“Charactered Pieces”
Review of Charactered Pieces by Caleb J. Ross
Writing that moves you is hard to find while wading through the debris of mainstream literature.
Caleb’s homespun flavor of modern tragedy will move you–surely as a swan dive into oncoming traffic.
Charactered Pieces might be compared to being in a bad relationship: you fall deeper and deeper in love as your heart breaks over and over again. You won’t forget these words, even if (for some ungodly reason) you wanted to.
All you really want is more.
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Purchase Charactered Pieces, the masterful collection of short stories. This link also includes more fantastic reviews (in case you don’t believe mine).
“Out of Touch” Peppermint Banner
This is actually “old” news, but Brandon Tietz has been sporting the following banner with a quote from my review of his book, Out of Touch. Kind of neat. Other big news in the world of BT to come.
Publishable
At the risk of sounding ametuer, today marks a huge event in my life as a writer. The following link is to a poem I wrote a while back, published by a gutsy poetry editor over at the Oustsider Writer’s Collective (OWC).
This is the first time my work has been published. As an officially published writer, I’d like to thank you fan. Couldn’t have gotten this far without your support. May we both see many more published works.
Click here to see my poem, The Everyday, at the OWC.
-Austin James, Featured Poet at the OWC
The Collection has a start…
Got my first rejection slip for Secondhand this afternoon! A generic note from The Seattle Review on a sixth of a piece of paper that is obviously a photocopy of some “master rejection page”. They were quick about it, too–response time was about half of the average wait from them. Building this collect is going to be a blast!
Quick update…
The dastardly real world is still cutting deep into my writing time. However, I have been working on my next story. It’s still in it’s “crappy sentences and scattered notes on napkins” stage. Very exciting!
Very Cool
Great interview of Richard Thomas (by Brandon Tietz) at the Cult.
Also, Thomas’s debut novel Transubstantiate can be preordered here. Or—for die-hards like myself—the signed limited edition hard cover with extras can be found here (while supplies last). Release date is 6.18.10.
Then again, if you haven’t come to your senses yet, read the first review of Transubstantiate by clicking on this.
This is a really big deal. Seriously.
Submit!
I recently started sending out applications for my newly formed (future) rejection slip collection. I included a short story I have finished–just in case there’s an editor out there who wants to read it. It’s a work of literary fiction about an adolescent boy gathering his first taste of the real world.
Wish me luck.
For that one adoring fan out there….
There are some who don’t appreciate the choppy, emotionally distant way that I write. Most, it seems, actually do like it. One of my former creative writing teachers recently said he “like(s) my style — clipped and understated.”
The following is an exercise from a current creative writing class. We (students) were all given the same picture–seemingly abandoned railroad tracks–to write about. This piece is a little underdeveloped, but still fun. It is a gift to you, fan. -AJ
The railroad crossing arm drifts down in front of my braking car. Flashing lights. Other vehicles stop behind me. We form a line; a caravan of sub-compacts and SUV’s. Headlights from the other side flicker as the train clanks by. In times like these, there is no wrong side of the tracks.
I turn the radio off. Just morning talk shows with their bad jokes and hand-me-down headlines. Sponsors who can’t afford better advertising. Theme music that fades in from a commercial break, teasing you with the thought of actual music.
The train slows, giving me enough time to study the backyard murals. Poetic slang from faraway places. Silly slogans; gangland symbols. Little glimpses of the American dream. Tee-Bone was here—there—somewhere with his aerosol cans of blue paint. As was Red Dawg. Profanity seems to be the only thing spelled correctly.
Drivers behind me get anxious, inching closer together. Sardines, individually wrapped in our own tin can containers. Some pull out and drive back towards the interstate. Tardy timecards on a Monday can curse the entire work week. Some people care.
An ill-fitting plastic lid leaves brown streaks down my cardboard to-go cup. I sip at the lukewarm coffee as it slobbers a few drops onto my pants. Khaki slacks; already rumpled from seatbelt creasings. I roll the window down as the train settles to a stop. Another morning cigarette.
Dust—and ash—has collected on my charcoal colored dash. Someone should vacuum the crumbs and dirt up off of the seats and floorboard. Someone should care. You can hardly tell in the morning twilight anyway.
Wristwatch says its quarter to six. People are already at the office, flipping on computers; warming up copy machines. Incorporated America is being roused from its weekend nap. Some people are worried; in a hurry to join their coworkers. Me, well, I’m fine right here with the train.
Austin James 