This Saturday, December 5th, The Association of Rhode Island Authors (ARIA) is holding their annual Author Expo virtually. Anyone can join: no Rhode Island ID needed! Each year, ARIA does an outstanding job bringing local writers, speakers and resources for writers (like us) together for a day of networking, teaching about the craft of writing and selling books from independent and small press authors. Even if you do not plan to attend, we encourage you to check out the local authors participating in the event, where you can find their books for sale. Please help support these hardworking writers! Jack and I have been attending this conference for many years now. We were introduced to it by FC member and contributor Mike Squatrito. At the conference last year, we met Michael Piekny, one of our…
“Memories Like Scars,” Poetry by Topper Barnes
Memories like Scars There is a 22-year-old somewhere Buried beneath the layers of abuse Curled up like a starving street cat Its fur caked with grime, oil, and feces Those star speckled marble eyes Bulging from the frail skull And the shy stomach purring While the confident takes its milk With a trowel she can be found A bit of digging and smoothing over With time Her blistered lips that have been Bitten by glass roses Will heal The gory craters dotting her face Torn open during 4am battles With invisible insects Will recover Her skeleton will grow a new coat Night by night Day by day Meal by meal A shape will appear where a spike Once stood And those tear tracks dipped In mascara Running down her cheeks Simply vanished With a…
“Nothing Against Ms. Johnson, But . . .” by Patricia Callahan
Nothing against Ms. Johnson, but when she read aloud to us, her head wobbled on her long neck. And she licked her thumb to turn pages. Nobody ever checked out a book she had read aloud during Library Hour. The day she tried to read us The Mouse and the Motorcycle, her thumb had just smudged page one when Evan stood on a library stool and threw the recess kickball at her. It smacked her in the face. The chapter book dropped to the floor, its pages fanning out before us as Ms. Johnson let out a high “Oh!” of surprise. Then a smaller “Oh.” Of realization. She brought her knuckles to her nose. Nobody breathed. “Tissue,” she said through her hand, and brought her other hand to the blotch of pink swelling on her cheek. “Please.” The kickball, bumping across the carpet, tapped against the picture books lining a bottom shelf and dribbled to a stop. Then Evan wound up and toe-balled…
November Edition of “The Break from HOKAIC”
We’d like to welcome back our new monthly feature by-writer and writing coach, and longtime FC friend Jason Brick. He brings us news from around the writing world. Here’s his November Edition of The Break from HOKAIC (Hands on Keyboard, Ass in Chair). Greetings all! As many of you know, I run a weekly newsletter of useful, fun, or amusing pieces of writing industry news called The Break From HOKAIC. As writers and lovers of writing yourselves, The Fictional Café thought you’d enjoy some highlights for your information and entertainment: Does Twitter pitching work? Four common pieces of writing advice that don’t go far enough A guide to influencer marketing for authors Alan Dean Foster and Disney are fussing over something important Some fabulous writing quotes you should know 8 Must-read self publishing blogs If you’d like more, delivered…
“Letters” and Other Poems by Morgan Bazilian
LETTERS The economists argue about the shape of letters. They consider V and U and even W. The letters, though have their own ideas about their shapes, and futures and destinies. The experts try to force them to fit a mold or a pre-conceived notion related to time and space. Ultimately, the letters dance across the graphs, unencumbered and uncaring of the constraints placed on them by nearly everyone. ** DAYS A day transitions under its own volition, without heralding anything of consequence. And then, two more or three in an un-syncopated beat. Boundaries do not exist, even circadian rhythms are not respected. This time has no empathy, no forgiveness as the fourth dimension. ** The LAWN The grass is blooming. It looks haphazard and unkempt. The sun is mixing with the rain and producing poppies and dandelions. Weeds…