Playground of a Lesser God Just in time for Halloween, I’m pleased to offer my short story, Playground of a Lesser God, online for free! Alone in her abandoned neighborhood on Halloween night, 10-year-old Elena is surrounded by ghost memories of her past. On the ruined playground where she used to go with her little sister, she solves a puzzle, uncovers a unique invention and is given the gift of hope for her future—but not before experiencing the scariest night of her life.S
Fantasy Scroll Magazine—my second story with this magazine. Charles Payseur wrote in his blog, Quick Sip Reviews: This story marks the most serious the issue gets (as far as original fiction is concerned) and the whole issue is organized to earn this moment of solemnity and yearning. It’s a post-apocalyptic story and one of the few really science fiction stories of the issue, too, that looks at the way that people kill and the responsibility they hold to killing and yet the w
My story, “Hu.man and Best,” is set in far-future Africa. After being passed over for promotion, Kanali Zohra Betts, is on a sentimental journey to southern Africa, which, decades before, was ceded to the Androidal Cognitive Entities (ACE) as part of a peace treaty between AIs and humans. There Betts discovers “Hu.man,” and suddenly finds herself embroiled in what could become an international incident, if she doesn’t handle it, the ACE, and her new commanding officer with fi
The other day while we were taking our evening walk, he told me about a “stupid mistake” (is there any other kind?) he’d made. Then he quoted the man who taught him carpentry, saying, “The sign of a good carpenter is the ability to cover up your mistakes and make them work.” This is a concept I’m familiar with. In art, we do this. You make a mistake in an oil painting, it’s no problem, just repaint it. That’s trickier in watercolor, but perfection is elusive at best, so you f
For the last week or so, I’ve been working on the novel I wrote in November during NaNoWriMo. Today I admitted to myself, that while effort has been expended [passive voice has been used], I’m flailing. I’ve been changing this, changing that, working obsessively on that all-important opening scene, but with very little strategy in mind. My novel’s in pretty good shape considering it was written in a month. I started at the beginning and moved through it in an orderly way. I u
I’m speeding along at a rapid, first-draft clip, feeling on top of my writing game, when I find myself rather suddenly up against a wall. Two walls, in fact—my nose pressed up into a corner. I turn around and find the room FULL of words. The way out is on the opposite wall and I’ve just written myself into a corner. I don’t know where to go with the story and if I did, I can’t get there from here. I’m stuck in the trap of my own plot. I have what seems like too many story ele
So how do you come up with complex, interesting characters? Get them to talk. Engage them in conversation. Ask them questions not only about the predicament they’re in and what they think about the other characters, but also their past, their pet peeves, their first love, their father, what they like to eat, whether they like to exercise or have health problems. Not all of this information will find it’s way into your story, but some will and all of it will inform what you wr
“The list of international award-winning contributors in this issue shows how far our magazine has come,” says Stewart Donovan, Professor of English Language and Literature and Irish Studies at St. Thomas University and editor of the Review. “Its reputation now attracts some of the finest writers in the country and beyond.”
Award Winning Poets and Short Story Writers
Award-winning poets and short story writers from across Canada are featured in the issue including Bert Almon
In honour of my granddaughter, Cadi who will be five on Wednesday. 2007 — #grandmother #Maine #Acadia #granddaughter #essay #FamilyampFriends #nonfiction #water #personal #son #story #marsh #sunset #colours
white lilacs It’s that time of year…time to re-dream lilacs. I wrote this in 2007.
Lilacs were not a part of my life until I moved north in my thirties. When I discovered them that first spring, it was as if I dreamed them. They felt that important and that personal. And yet, I never remember a conscious thought of lilacs before then. Growing up in southern Texas, lilac wasn’t a flower or a smell—lilac was a colour.
In my fifties, I moved even farther north and now I have