That’s when I screamed as loud as I could. So loud that a photographer dropped her camera. I curled into a ball and grabbed my knees. “Please stop talking. Please stop talking.” I repeated like a madman.An excerpt from The Plummet
Today I launched my monthly newsletter and a free ebook for new subscribers.
I’ve wanted to launch this newsletter since the moment I created my blog. Email lists are pivotal for authors / aspiring authors to not only gain some creative freedom and control over their careers, but to build closer connections to those who actually love their work.
I plan to turn this author thing into something I can be proud of. However, that requires me to grow beyond the limitations other platforms place on me.
So why should you subscribe?
With my monthly newsletter you’ll…
- be the first to know about anything going on
- get first dibs on preorders, deals, ARCs, and giveaways
- get Musings from Rock Bottom as a special thank you
- and so much more!
What’s this about a free ebook?
Musings from Rock Bottom is a newsletter exclusive ebook gifted to new subscribers. It’s a collection of select poems and flash fictions from the blog. ALSO the ebook features two exclusive pieces including my short story, The Plummet.
Check out these beautiful pages (plus another except of The Plummet):
If I’ve piqued your interest, I would be super super super duper duper happy if you joined my mailing list. In return you’ll receive exclusive monthly content, priority updates, and an exclusive ebook!
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The following is an excerpt from my upcoming ebook, Musings from Rock Bottom. Details are below!
Every bit of me
Wants to believe we
Are real, that in
Our silences, a chord,
Silvery, binds us together.
Unseen but felt, reminding
Us that we are
Kindred souls in love
Fated to be by
God or whatever force
That put us here.
Every bit of me
Wants to believe this.
But the wounds from
Past chords prevent me.
Chords I believed were
Like ours—precious loves—
Until brutishly snatched away
Like ripping an embedded
Hangnail from a finger.
In my eyes
My wounds prove
“Love” is foolish.
Every bit of me
Wants you to
Prove me wrong.
Continue reading “Every Bit of Me”
Photo: Three Heart Balloons by Kristina Paukshtite via Pexels.
There was nothing like it. Their first kiss. The way they’d fallen in love. The loneliness that existed before and the salvation he brought. She could see a life with him: a house, a little dog, and maybe a child.
She dragged her knife against rigid metal, grating its edge to a sharp point. Well, she thought, turning to her victim subdued in the kitchen chair. His new girlfriend is welcomed to my leftovers.
Continue reading “Leftovers”
Photo:Knife Kitchen Block by Congerdesign via Pixabay.
She was here.
But not really.
She’s in limbo.
Like between sleeping and awake.
Like between breathing and not.
An elaborate veneer of external liveliness.
Photo: Woman Sitting via Pixabay.
I can feel her beside me when I close my eyes. If I focus hard enough, I can almost smell her shampoo each time our rotary fan turns its gaze her way.
I try my best not to disturb my lucid dream of her.
She doesn’t need to leave on that commute again…the one from two months ago when her car flipped and she—the real she—was taken from me.
If I stay silent, she’ll always be asleep beside me.
Photo: Sunlight inside bed by Becca Schultz via Unsplash.
Question, why does joy
As if an intermission
A ragged, painful breath
As if being broken
Continue reading “The Joy Ticker”
Photo: Vintage Clocks by Heather Zabriskie via Unsplash.
I still tasted the last of the toothpaste. The minty feeling reminding me I’d have to replenish both bathrooms if there was anything left between bills and food. Hell, my family might have to go a week with stinky breath. That ought to be fun.
I shifted in my recliner. A torn, ragged thing I found at a thrift store that’s now even more fucked up since crossing my threshold. My kids—did I school them today? — have picked at the old fabric until stuffing jutted out like skin through ripped jeans.
I made a last futile attempt at comfortability, then settled in, ignoring the serrated leather cutting into my flabby thighs.
I fixed on my reading glasses and snapped open my magazine. For a moment I brood over not buying one of those tablet things that Renee has when I had the money, but soon think better of it. She could barely go two taps without Big Brother trying to sell her some shit she looked at two days ago.
But… I’d take the ads any day.
It’s better than this unexplainable dread that fills me as I leaf through the streaky magazine paper. Every page detailing how the world is falling apart. Hell, how it might even die before my own little shits come of age. I let the pages slip between my thumbs, fast forwarding through all the bullshit.
I just want a happy fucking ending.
Smooth coffee and old pages
No care in the world
Cover Photo by Suzy Hazelwood from Pexels
I used to complain about not having enough time to complete personal goals or work on creative projects. Oddly enough, my new abundance of time isn’t motivation enough to do these things. Good thing there’s several writing and reading events happening this month. Events that I’m participating in! (And, who knows, maybe these events will keep you busy too?)
Magical Readathon 2020 (OWLs)
The OWLs is a Harry Potter themed reading challenge hosted and created by G from Book Roast. Participants complete courses (reading challenges) for a particular career to qualify for their NEWTs in August. If you complete both challenges, you get a cool diploma! Some careers you can “study” for are Alchemist, Astronomer, Mind Medic, Broom Maker, and others.
This is my first year taking part in the event, and I’m studying to be a Writer or Journalist (shocker, right?). I’m reading A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab for my “History of Magic: Witch Hunt” course. I’ll share my tbr in a later post!
Camp NaNo is a lax version of NaNoWriMo where you can choose whatever writing goal you wish to complete during the month. Mine is to work on Retaliate. It’s in the “drowning in a pit of despair” (aka editing) stage of the writing process and desperately needs some love.
National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo)
NaPoWriMo is like NaNoWriMo, but it’s poetry centered and ISN’T run by the nonprofit. Participants can write whatever poetry they like and the host provides prompts for those who often find themselves stuck (like me). I’ve completed one prompt so far, but the goal is to do as many as I can and share them here on the blog.
Perhaps taking on all three of these events at once is too much for some, but I want–no I need–to fill my April in creativity due to stagnation. Maybe you feel the same way and want to join me in one (or all) the above events? After all, its not too late.
Cover photo by Daria Shevtsova from Pexels
I play a sick game with my Unconscious
I hand it my woes—
The ones that prevent me from functioning—
And plead, “Don’t let me remember this.”
But the bastard always reminds me
When it senses it did its job too well.