#The Painted Bride Quarterly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

knightwingyj · 6 years ago

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Little Do You Know Ch 4

“Did anyone ever tell you that if you keep frowning like that, your face will stick?” Conan ignored the comment in favor of the operations report in front of him. “Then again, it might be too late for you.”

The urge to roll his eyes was strong. It usually was whenever Gavin Reed was involved. “Do you have something for me?” He asked almost seeming bored.

A stack of photos landed on his desk, directly on top of the report and his irritation at the man increased. All of the eight by ten photos contained the same subject. It seems Conner took Sumo to Riverside Park Sunday. A few depicted them walking through the festival and Sumo getting petted by strangers. He flipped through them, uninterested until Conner entered one of the tents. Conan’s brow furrowed. “Who is this man across from Conner?”

Gavin leaned in to get a better look. “How should I know?”

Conan leveled him with a look and it was Gavin’s turn to roll his eyes. “His name is Markus Manfred, a local painter. Quite famous actually. Does a lot of charity work. He was doing caricatures for the festival.”

He knew that name. He was one of Conner’s favorite artists. His work was all over his brother’s room. This also happened to be the same man Conner was talking to at his engagement party. Interesting. Conan flipped through the rest of the photos and the dip in his brow deepened with each one. Photos of them walking side by side through the festival, sharing some kind of pastry. Chasing after a loose Sumo with matching grins. Standing a little too close with Markus inspecting Conner’s palm. His eyebrow’s twitched at the next one. They were both on the ground with Conner laying on top of Markus. The latter seemed to be in the midst of a good laugh as Conner flushed with embarrassment. The leash wrapped around their legs, suggesting that had lost their balance and tumbled.

“What do you think?” Conan asked suddenly glancing up at the PI.

“About them?” Conan nodded. “I’d say they were good friends.”

“But?”

“But…” Gavin reached down and pulled the last photo out of the pile, setting it in Conan’s hands. “You don’t look at a ‘good friend’ like that.”

They were holding each other’s wrists as if one had just helped the other up. The shot was focused on Conner. His eyes were fixated on Markus and… glowing. In fact, Conner’s whole face seemed to shine. From his chocolate eyes and rosy cheeks to his soft, warm smile. It was an expression he had only seen on Conner once. Back when they were hormonal teenagers in high school. It was full of hope, care, adoration, and…dare he say it…love. He let out a heavy breath. Damn it, Conner.

“Keep following them,” Conan ordered shuffling the photos into a plain manila folder and stowing them in a locked drawer in his desk.

Gavin shook his head with a smirk. “Spying on your own brother. That’s cold.”

Conan refused to grace that comment with a response. He was doing this for Conner’s own good.

There was something about the smell of ink and the scratching of a pen that put Conner at ease. He found himself locked in his overly spacious office, immersed in quarterly earnings reports and getting lost in numbers and calculations. Numbers were simple and constant, ever-changing but remaining exactly the same. Conner could shut out the chaos of his life and focus solely on the computations. It was one of the better parts of his job and it provided a short retreat from board meetings and performance reviews.

The sound of his dark, office doors opening pulled him from the realm of finances and he blinked. “I should’ve known you would be hard at work,” Chloe stated with a fond smile. Her blue dress stopped just above her knees and cut off at her shoulders. It brought out her blond hair, curling over her left shoulder in a loose ponytail. Simple, pointed black heels covered her feet and she sashayed into his office. “Don’t you ever take a break?”

“I did, at lunch,” Conner commented, standing as she came around his desk.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Conner, that was nearly four hours ago.”

“And it was sufficient for the rest of the day.” She rolled her eyes.

“Whatever you say, Mr. CFO. I just came to tell you that I’ll be leaving town for a couple of days.”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“My cousin had her baby today and I’m heading out there to help her out.”

“Oh.”

Her hands landed on his biceps and she glanced away. “I’m sorry about the play. I know we said we would go together.”

“It’s alright.” Conner dismissed casually.

“Maybe you could find someone to go with you.” She suggested eyes wide with a not so well-hidden hope that he would jump at the chance at social interaction.

“No, I think I just might give them to someone else.” That little hope died in her eyes and he only felt a little bad at killing it.

“Alright…well…do whatever you feel like doing and I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Stay safe.”

Chloe smiled warmly at that. “You too. Lord knows how much trouble you’ll get into while I’m gone.”

“I’m not that hopeless.” Conner scoffed, and Chloe raised another eyebrow. People really needed to stop looking at him like that. Soft fingers grazed his cheek and he stiffened slightly. Their eyes met, and Conner felt suddenly trapped. He watched as she raised herself on her toes and an unpleasant knot formed in the space between his stomach and diaphragm. His breath came out in shallow pants and his hands felt like blocks of ice. Her lips brushed his. Eyes wide, he tried to quail the panic rising inside him. The kiss was light and feathery and lasted no more than three seconds, but to him, it felt like years.

She finally pulled away and he schooled his expression. For a moment, he feared he hadn’t done it quick enough as her smile was tight and plastered. “I’ll see you later, Conner.” She said. There was a heaviness to her voice that he didn’t understand.

“See you.” His response may have been a little too quick as her mouth pressed into a thin line before she turned sharply and strode out. Had he done something wrong?

Slightly confused and uncomfortable with the exchange, he shook his head and sat down, returning to his work. He needed to finish these reports if he wanted to leave on time.

Six fifteen. He was going to be late. Conner rushed out of the elevator and into the waiting car, slamming the door behind him. “Jeeze, kid. What’s your hurry? Got someone waiting for ya?” Hank questioned, grey hair tied back in his ‘for work only’ hair tie.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Riverside Youth Center, please Hank.” Conner requested buckling his seatbelt. Safety first.

He could practically feel that eyebrow. “Why the hell are we going to a youth center?”

Conner huffed softly. “If you must know, I’m meeting a friend.” Another eyebrow. “Would you just drive, please?”

“Okay, whatever you say.” The car hummed as Hank pulled it into evening traffic, sneaking glances at the back seat through the rearview mirror. A flash of silver danced over knuckles.

“So, this friend?” Hank questioned returning his eyes to the road. “They wouldn’t happen to be Markus Manfred would it?”

The coin paused for a millisecond. “How did you know that?”

Hank gave him his best, ‘bitch, please’ face. “I used to be a detective, Kid. You would not shut up about this guy for weeks whenever he released a new painting, but once you finally meet him? Zilch. You’re a little too cavalier about the whole thing.” Silence. Hank’s brow pinched, and he glanced at the mirror. “You fucking him?”

Conner choked on his spit and dropped his quarter. He hurried snatched it up, face red and sputtering. “Hank! I’m engaged!” He admonished.

Hank just shrugged. “So? People have done worse things while married.” There was a pregnant pause and Conner pointily avoided the rearview mirror. “Okay, not fucking him…but you want to.”

“Hank!” The boy protests too much, methinks. Conner shook his head as his face went blank. “I’m not having this conversation with you.” Wait for it. “We’re just friends.” There it is.

Hank made an agnostic hum and Conner did his utmost to burn a hole in the back of his head. “He is. I can have more than one friend, Hank.”

“I’m not saying you can’t, but usually people don’t want to fuck their friends.”

“I don’t want to fuck him.” There was that damn noise again. “Oh my god,” Conner rubbed at his temples. He was starting to get a headache and its name was Hank Anderson. “You are impossible.”

Hank huffed out a laugh. “You want to tell me what it is about this guy that’s got you blushing like a new bride?”

He was not blushing. He didn’t say a word. “Come on, kid. Don’t you trust me?” Silence. “Are you really going to give me the silent treatment?”

“You are an asshole.”

“And you’re a brat. Now that we’ve established that, get to the good part.”

“No. You’re just making fun of me.”

“Brat, exhibit A.” Conner shook his head but couldn’t hold back a smile. The car rolled to a stop just outside the center’s front doors and he unbuckled. He went to open the door when Hank stopped him with a hand on his knee. He had turned around in his seat to look Conner in the eye. All playfulness had vanished. “In all seriousness, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

Conner smiled warmly at him. “I know, Hank.”

“Good,” The lieutenant waved him off, turning back around. “Get out of here and go make some babies.”

Not being able to decide between blushing or being ‘annoying analytical’, as Hank put it, he did a combination of both. “You know that’s not physically possible.”

“Will you get out of here?!”

Chuckling, Conner stepped out and closed the door. He suddenly remembered he was late and he rushed inside. Hank scoffed to himself as he watched the boy run, “Oh, he definitely wants to.”

Room one hundred and four was located on the east side of the building, along two corridors and behind a second set of double doors. Conner glanced through the small glass window, spotting his target standing at the front of the class. Suddenly nervous, Conner hastily wiped his sweaty hands on his suit pants and quietly opened the door. No one noticed his appearance as they were all enthralled with the hot teacher demonstrating a technique on his own easel. The classroom itself was slightly larger than average, about 1,657 square feet. Shelving units lined one wall while a continuous countertop lined the other. There were three sinks total, five drying racks, and eighteen easels, each with a student seated in front of them. The door behind him no doubt held a kiln based on the pottery on the selves. There was hardly an inch of this place that wasn’t splattered with paint.

His eyes returned to the front where they locked with green and blue. A brilliant smile overtook Markus’s face and Conner’s followed suit. “It seems we’ll have to pick this up next week. Don’t forget to practice your techniques. ‘Knowledge is of no value unless you put it into practice’.”

Shuffling and conversation flowed as the students packed up their supplies. Conner received a few curious glances, but none stopped to speak to him. “You’re a bit late for class I’m afraid,” Markus said once the room had emptied.

“I know. I got a little held up with work and- “

Markus touched his shoulder. “Conner, I’m kidding.”

Conner grinned sheepishly. “Right.” His throat prickled, and he slipped his sweaty hands in his pockets. A paint-stained smock covered Markus clothes. There were a few spots on his fingers and arms.

“I have to admit I’m a little surprised to see you here.” The painter commented as he moved a few of his paints and brushes to a counter.

“Well, when you said you taught classes, I had to see that for myself.”

“And what did you think?”

“You mean what did I think for all of the two minutes that I witnessed?” Conner teased making Markus chuckle. He shifted on his heels. “You have a real gift, Markus, and to be so passionate about it to want to share it with others…it’s inspiring.”

Markus’ eyes crinkled and glowed. “And did I inspire you to try?” He gestured to the easel.

Conner shook his head, waving his hands softly. “Oh, no. I have no talent for art, whatsoever.”

“I bet I could prove you wrong.”

“I highly doubt that.” Markus gave him a look, head tilted. Those eyes are going to be really hard to say no to. Conner sighed. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Markus moved out of the way and Conner sat down on the stool. Picking up a random brush, he hesitated before dipping it into a robin egg blue. “Um, what exactly am I supposed to paint?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Markus replied leaning against the table next to him. “You can paint anything you want. Anything you could possibly imagine.” Way to be vague, Markus.

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

“Here,” the man moved to stand behind him. Large, warm hands gently held onto his waist. Warm breath caressed the shell of his ear and Conner fought frantically against his blush. “Close your eyes.”

Conner dare not move his head, but his eyes shifted to glance at Markus. “How is this beneficial?”

“Just trust me. Close your eyes.” Letting out a breath, Conner did as he was told. He knew immediately that it was a mistake as he became acutely aware of Markus’ proximity to him. His blush was determined. “Some of the best art can inflict certain emotions in its viewers, so try pouring your emotions into your art. Think of a strong emotion and just let it flow through you.”

Panic. Panic was certainly a strong emotion and right now, the strongest he was feeling. He tried to swallow the pins in his throat. “Uh,” that came out a lot breathier than he was hoping. He cleared his throat as subtly as possible. “I don’t think I can do that.”

There was a husky hum in his ear and Conner’s brain jumped to places it should absolutely not be. “Okay, how about this?” Markus’ voice paused. “Have you ever been to the beach?”

“The beach?” Conner shrugged. “Once.”

“And how did it feel?”

“It was- “

“Don’t tell me. Show me.” Markus commanded, and Conner rushed to obey. He moved his hand forward until he met resistance. He could hear the bristles meeting the canvas. “How did the water feel against your skin?” The brush moved, creating waves of blue against white. The man couldn’t help but get closer to the CFO, careful not to let he chest touch Conner’s back even though everything in him screamed to do so.

“The sun against your face.” Circles appeared on the canvas and Markus’ thumbs followed of their own accord.

“The sand under your feet.” Dots followed next.

“The wind in your hair.” His breath fanned out over his skin, raising goosebumps to the surface.

Markus’ voice trailed off as he watched Conner’s face. Eyes were still under his eyelids, delicate lashes caressing smooth cheeks. Freckles and moles dotted his face like Conner’s sand. Including one on his temple just barely visible underneath chestnut hair. His lips itched to press a kiss to it. Eyes traced the line of his nose to plump, pink lips. He could just imagine how they’d feel against his, soft but firm. His tongue darted out to wet his own lips. He saw Conner’s eyes twitch and he hurriedly turned his attention to the painting.

Conner’s eyes blinked open, taking in the chaos before him and his expression fell. “It looks like shit.”

Markus let out a surprised laugh at the statement. “It does not. It looks like a beach of blue.”

“Where in the world do you get a beach out of this mess?”

“Look,” copper fingers traced the lines. Waves. “Here’s your ocean, calm and soothing.” Circles. “Here’s your swirling sun.” Dots. “Your warm, soft sand.” Swirls. “Your gentle wind.”

Markus looks so serene describing his painting. Conner tilted his head, trying to view it through Markus’ eyes. No change. “It still looks like a bunch of random marks to me.”

“Well, you are the creator and we tend to be our own worst critiques. I like it.” Markus moved away, taking his heat with him. Conner only now just realized how close he had been, how comfortable.

“If you like it, you might as well keep it.” Conner offered, dropping the paintbrush and rising from the stool.

Markus’ head snapped toward him as if he couldn’t quite believe what he had heard. “Really?” That was more enthusiastic than Conner had expected. It silently pleased him.

“Yes, really. You’re the only one who would appreciate it anyway.” Conner couldn’t imagine what reactions he would get if he took it home. He could almost see the looks, the comments.

“Thank you,” Markus said brightly, and Conner held back a proud smile. “I need to start cleaning up.”

“I’ll help.”

Markus looked shocked that he would even offer. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay. I want to.” His cheeks were starting to hurt some smiling so much, but he couldn’t help it.

“Well, if you insist.”

Conner nodded once and began to remove his suit jacket. Markus froze, unable to look away. Delicate fingers slipped the buttons of his sleeve cuffs free and rolled up the fabric, exposing pale skin of a strong forearm. Conner shifted, and Markus turned away quickly, praying that the other man hadn’t noticed him staring. Way to be a creep, Markus. Shaking away his self-beratement, he gently lifted Conner’s painting and laid it carefully on the table.

Collecting all of the soiled paint brushed, Conner brought them to one of the empty sinks and turned the handle. It took a minute for the water to flow from the tap and he frowned. It seems the center was in need of more funding than he thought. He ran the brushes under the water.

Sneaking a glance toward the sinks, Markus’ mouth went dry. The rolled sleeves gave Conner a relaxed vibe the Markus hadn’t felt from him before. His tie had been thrown over his shoulder to keep it from getting wet. Colored water streamed in rivets over elegant hands as brushes swirled along the skin of his palm. A single drop escaped the pool and rolled down the inside of a thin wrist and down that creamy forearm to soak into the crisp, white fabric of the rolled sleeve. Markus swallowed thickly as he tore his eyes away. It was getting rather warm in here.

Brushes cleaned and put away, Conner dried his hands and turned to see a majority of the easels gone. He picked up the last two and brought them over to Markus. There was a hint of redness in his cheeks as he took the easels from him. “Thank you.” He folded them and leaned them against the others.

“You’re welcome,” Conner replied.

Markus held his gaze for a second too long before he snapped himself out of it and looked around the cleared room. “I think that’s everything. Thanks again for your help.”

“It was no trouble. I’m sorry I was so late though. I’ll have to do better in the future.”

“Of course, I expect only the best from my students.” Markus teased.

Conner grinned when a lightbulb went on in his brain. “Oh, hey. Do you enjoy the theatre?”

“Theatre?” Markus puzzled. “Like plays?” The burnet nodded. “Sure, why?”

“Well, I have a couple of tickets for tomorrow night and I was wondering if you wanted to go. I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought that maybe…”

“Conner,” Markus cut him off. Conner rambled when he was nervous. Cute. “I would love to.”

That beautifully crooked smile grew, crinkling the edges of his eyes. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“Cool, what are we seeing?”

He stopped short. What were they seeing? He didn’t know. Chloe always picked, and he just went along with it. “I’ve got no idea.” He confessed.

That pulled a laugh out of Markus. “A mystery, I like it.”

Conner chuckled along with him. He knew he had suggested it as to not waste the tickets and to hang out with his friends as Chloe had suggested, but, for some reason, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just asked Markus out on a date.

“I can’t believe you asked him out on a date.”

A heavy breath escaped as his eyes searched for patience on his vanity’s ceiling. Hank was slouched in his reading chair, hands flipping through Conner’s latest rainy day read. “It’s not a date. We’re just hanging out as friends.” He explained for the third time.

“Friends don’t usually take each other out to the theatre.”

“I didn’t want to waste the tickets.” Conner’s fingers expertly knotted the bow tie.

Hank clicked his tongue. “So…Markus is your rebound?”

Conner’s eyes did roll this time. “I’m done trying to explain this to you.”

The book was tossed back onto the end table. “What’s there to explain? Your fiancée wasn’t available, so you decided to take your crush instead.” He didn’t bother to grace that with a response. “So, what are you going to do after?”

“Nothing. Why are you so determined that I sleep with him?” Conner questioned straightening the finished bow tie.

Hank raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything about you sleeping with him. That’s where your mind went…and maybe you’d be less of a stooge if you actually got laid.”

“You’re impossible.”

Hank just shrugged before groaned and dragging himself out of the recliner. Stretching his hands over his head, he let out a satisfied sound as his vertebrae popped back into place. “That chair is so fucking comfortable.”

“I know. That’s why I bought it.”

Hank clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Have fun tonight, kid. Be safe.”

“I’m always safe when driving, Hank.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hank said with a shit-eating grin.

Migraine, thy name is Hank. “Oh my god, Goodnight Hank.” Hank just cackled as he walked out the door.

Conner shook his head at the lieutenant’s antics, wondering why they were even friends. Giving himself a once over in the mirror, he shrugged on his jacket and grabbed his keys from his dresser. Closing the door behind him, he glanced up to see Conan watching him from his own bedroom doorway. A bubble of irritation rose up in him at the thought of his brother judging him, but it popped quickly at the thought of their last encounter. Despite only being sixteen minutes behind Conner, Conan always acted like the oldest between them. He was overbearing, overprotective, and downright infuriating, but he always did his best to look after him. He worried in his own, unique way. Affection for his baby brother replaced the irritation and he smiled warmly.

“Goodnight, Conan.”

Conan looked a little taken back by his farewell and it was a bit awkward for a few moments as he processed. Eventually, those icy blue eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Goodnight, Conner.” The door closed with a click. He’d consider this progress.

Copper fingers straightened his bow tie for the third time and tugged the nonexistent wrinkles out of his suit jacket for the fifth. A tangled ball of live wires writhed in his stomach, tuning his insides with tiny electric shocks. His hands started sweating a while ago and he pressed them into the fabric of the couch. He didn’t want to wrinkle his pants.

“I haven’t seen you this wound up for a date since Prom. Who’s the lucky guy?” Carl rolled up next to the arm of the couch, taking note of his son’s nervous fidgeting.

“It’s not like that. We’re just going to the theatre.”

“You and who?”

The darkening of Markus’ cheeks was barely visible, but the old artist noticed. “Conner.”

White eyebrows twitched at the name. “Conner Stern?”

“Yes.”

“The same Conner Stern who just got engaged three weeks ago?”

Shame quieted the bundle of wire and Markus glanced down at his knees, unable to look his father in the eye. “Yeah.”

This really wasn’t unexpected. Markus always tended to fall for the complicated ones. It was the caretaker in him that drew Markus to the ones that truly needed love. Despite the slight mortification in his words, there was still a bit of pink in Markus’s cheeks. The corners of his mouth hinted at a goofy grin and his eyes were bright. Carl didn’t know Conner very well, but he had to be something truly special to elicit such a response from his golden-hearted boy. He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “So, you going to tell him?”

Markus looked at him confused. “Tell him what?”

“How you feel about him?”

His son hastened to school his expression but the red in his cheeks darkened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull,” Markus needed to stop being surprised by how blunt Carl could be. The older man shifted closer. “Markus, you came home yesterday practically giddy. Now, I haven’t seen you like that since you and North got together back in high school. Feelings like that aren’t something you can hide.”

Markus’ mouth was having a difficult time forming words. “It… I… It’s not like that. He and I- “He growled in frustration, dragging his hands over his close-cropped hair. “We’re… we’re just… we’re not like that. It’s like you said, he’s engaged.”

“Maybe that’s the reason you should tell him.”

“Shouldn’t that be the very reason that I don’t?”

“Would you regret it if you didn’t?”

He paused, trying to process what was said. Tell him because he was engaged? That didn’t make any sense, but…Carl may be right. If he didn’t, he could regret it. Living his life not knowing what could have been. It caused a lump to stick in his lungs. He opened his mouth to respond when the doorbell rang and that lump jumped from his lungs to his throat. Holy shit, he was here. Markus practically jumped to his feet and brushed his immaculate suit. Ignoring Carl’s knowing grin, Markus answered the door…and promptly last the ability to breathe.

The man he was having a mini existential crisis about was currently sanding under the halo of their porch lights, looking very much like an angel to his eyes. “H-Hi.” Markus stuttered still starring.

Conner’s grin accompanied a blush. “Hi.”

The black tux was reminiscent of that night on the balcony but there was something different this time. Maybe it was his smile or the fact that his eyes were shining instead of being lost in the dark.

Markus was definitely more put together this time around but Conner had to admit that he was seriously missing the loose tie and opened shirt.

“Well, aren’t you going to invite him in?”

Heterochromia eyes blinked at Carl’s question and he flushed deeply. “Right, come on in.” He moved his body out of the doorway and watched as Conner went immediately to Carl, greeting him as the host.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Manfred. You have a wonderful home.” Conner complimented shaking the elder’s hand.

“Why thank you, Conner, and please, call me Carl. I hear so much about you from Markus, I feel as if I know you already.” Markus’ grin grew almost manic at Carl’s comment and the older man flashed his son a mischievous glance. “He particularly enjoys the painting you gave him. Got it hanging in his room.”

His face ended up hidden in his hands, fingers rubbing at his brow. When Carl decided to tease him, it was best to just let him get it all out of his system, lest it becomes worse for Markus.

Their guest just laughed. “I really can’t talk. I’ve got a few of his own pieces in my room as well.”

Carl’s eyes lit up with this tidbit of information. “Well, isn’t that something. You hear that Markus?”

“Yeah, Dad. I already knew.”

“Did you now?” Carl was enjoying this way too much.

“Dad,” Markus warned.

Carl chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Alright, I think I’ve embarrassed Markus enough. You kids have fun tonight. Be careful on the roads.”

“We will,” Conner assured as he took Carl’s hand again. “Again, it was a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Conner. I expect to see you around here more often.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Conner replied as Markus ushered him out the door. The light from the house cut off as the door closed and he turned to Markus. “I like him.”

Markus rolled his eyes good-naturedly and started toward the driveway. “He’s always enjoyed teasing me.”

“Well, that’s what dads are supposed to do. He reminds me of Hank.”

Catching sight of Conner’s car, Markus let out a low whistle. “MGB Roadster. Nice. What year?”

“Seventy-four. I bought her a couple years ago. She’s one of the few things that is actually mine.” Conner said opening the passenger door of the convertible. Markus gave him a playfully-not so playful-flirty grin and batted his eyelashes.

“Such a gentleman. Do you treat all your dates with this much chivalry?” He slipped into the seat and Conner closed the door, leaning against it.

“Only the good-looking ones.” He gave Markus a wink and silently basked in his victory at the resulting blush.

The exchange was a preview for the drive as they tried to one-up each other with cheesy pickup lines and desperately trying to fluster the other. Markus won, seeing as he was much cheesier than Conner and his dark skin hid the redness better than Conner’s pale skin. This camaraderie was wonderfully pleasant and Conner found himself relaxing more and more. Markus had this way for breaking down his walls and reaching the human he tried too hard to hide.

The intermission couldn’t come soon enough as Conner and Markus stood just outside the theatre doors. “Well,” Markus started a little unsure about the proper way to phrase his next sentence without sounding rude. “That was…”

“Boring,” Conner interjected and Markus chuckled at his bluntness.

“Yeah.”

“It’s not really what I expected.”

Markus hummed in agreement before a brilliant idea was made by his ever growling stomach. “Hey, you hungry?”

“Um, yes.”

Smiling, Markus grabbed his hand and Conner’s heart fluttered. “Come on then.” They walked out of the building, hands still clasped, missing the end of the intermission. Markus steered them away from the parking lot and Conner’s car. Confused, the brunet didn’t say anything, not wanting to remind Markus that his hand was still clinging to his and having him remove it. They walked down the busy sidewalk to a diner on the corner.

It stank of cheap, greasy food and boasted a fifty’s motif. Conner loved it. It reminded him of Hank. “This place has the best burgers and shakes, hands down,” Markus said, guiding him to an empty booth near the window and sitting down across from him, hands automatically removing the bow tie and loosening a few buttons on his shirt. Conner’s eyes had no choice but to follow his movements, resting on the smooth skin of his neck and collar bones. He looked away as a waitress approached their table.

“What will it be gentlemen?” She asked pleasantly, notebook and pen pose and ready to write. Her neon pink uniform was stained and wrinkled from working a full shift. Dirty blond hair was piled on the top of her head.

“Two number fours please,” Markus said and she nodded.

“Good choice and what to drink?”

“Water, please.”

She smiled down at them.” I’ll be right back with those.” And she left them to their own devices.

Markus looked at him a little sheepish. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered for you. You just really need to try their burgers.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. Considering I have never been here before, it’s only logical.”

His companion snickered. “Whatever you say, Spock.”

Conner did his adorable head tilt and Markus’ stomach dropped. “What is a ‘spock’?”

Markus just stared. “Are you telling me that you’ve never seen Star Trek?” Conner just shook his head. He hissed under his breath, “you uncultured swine.” He reached out a hand and patted his forearm. “Don’t worry Con. We’ll educate you on the artistic beauty of science fiction soon enough.”

Conner paused, his eyes wide. Markus did the head tilt this time. “What?”

“It’s just, no one, besides Hank, has called me ‘Con’ in a long time.”

“I didn’t offend you, did I?” Markus asked worriedly.

“No, no. Of course not, it’s just nice to hear.” He sent Markus a smile and received one in return.

The waitress came back with their food and Conner had to admit that it looked delicious, despite the extremely high calories. Following Markus’ lead, he picked up the overly large burger and took a bite. His mouth exploded with a mosaic of flavors ranging from spicy to tangy. He stared at the food wide-eyed. “Wow,” he said softly in awe.

Markus was grinning over his own burger. “I know right,” and he took another bite. There wasn’t much conversation between them as they ate but it wasn’t long before Markus was regaling him with stories from his childhood. A particular one of the Jericrew and a couple cans of spray paint had Conner laughing until his belly hurt.

“Well,” Conner said still laughing and pressing a hand to his aching stomach. “It sounds to me like you were quite a delinquent in your early years, Mr. Manfred.”

Markus scoffed. “Says the guy who got arrested for blowing up a freighter.”

Conner’s eyes went comically wide and his jaw slacked. “I’ll have you know, that that was a one-time thing!” He protested over Markus’ guffaws.

“I beg to differ. Any other criminal acts I should know about? Bank robberies? Jewel heists? Tramp stamps?”

Conner’s face reddened and he averted his eyes on the last suggestion and it was Markus’ turned to be shocked. “Holy shit, I was joking. You have a tramp stamp?!”

“No,” Conner hissed but still flushed. “It’s not a tramp stamp.”

“But you do have a tattoo?” Conner just nodded. “Oh my god. Where is it and what is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?!”

“Because you’re making fun of me.”

“Aw, but I’m your best friend,” Markus whined. Conner pursed his lips and shook his head, unfazed. Markus pouted. “Fine, killjoy, but I’ll find out sooner or later.” Even if I have to take all of your clothes off to do it. No. Bad Markus.

The waitress returned. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Yes, a caramel mocha shake please,” Markus said and she turned to Conner.

“Nothing for me, thank you.”

Markus gave him a look. “Conner, milkshakes are part of the burger experience.”

Conner laughed. “I would but if I eat any more, I think I might burst.”

Markus made an over exaggerated groan. “Fine, you can share with me.” The waitress nodded with an understanding grin and hurried off to fill their order. Conner just shook his head fondly.

“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, Conner,” Markus said sincerely. “I had a lot of fun.”

“I did too, even if the play was rather dull,” Conner smirked.

“Yeah, well, at least we got these delicious burgers out it. And the company isn’t half bad either.” He ended that sentence with a wink and Conner felt his face heat up. The waitress arrived in half the time and placed a light brown beverage between them with two straws sticking out of the mountain of whipped cream.

“Oh my god, this is a heart attack in a cup,” Conner said scooting up excitedly, blatantly ignoring his previously stuffed stomach.

“Just wait till you try it,” Markus said grabbing his straw and putting it in his mouth. Conner’s mind wanted to slip into the gutter but he restrained it with a sip of his own. It was even better than the burgers. Conner practically melted in his seat.

“Markus, I will never question your culinary tastes ever again.”

“Damn, right you won’t.” The painter said smugly, tongue darting out the pulled the straw back into his mouth with a cocky grin. Stop it, Conner. His dirty mind was not going to ruin this moment for him. After all, it was the most fun he’s had in a long time.

#my fic #markus x connor #dbh markus #dbh connor #dbh simon #dbh north #dbh josh #gavin reed #hank anderson #rk1000 #rk900 #emotional manipulation #arranged marriage #mutual pining

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marvelousbirthdays · 7 years ago

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Happy Birthday, spoonlesslupie!

May 5 - Pepperony crack, post-engagement but pre-wedding, for @spoonlesslupie

Written by @iamartemisday

Pepper walked into the living room to find Tony polishing one of his older model Ironman suits on the couch. She took her usual spot by the fireplace and flipped through some quarterly reports that needed her signature by Monday. Once again, they’d overshot their production budget. The poor overworked accountants had been crunching the numbers all night. Pepper made a note on her phone to up their Christmas bonus this year. Lord knows they deserve it.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

Pepper didn’t look up. “Ask what?”

“About the suit.” She might as well have questioned his intelligence for how appalled he was. “Don’t you want to know why I’m polishing it in the living room?”

“Tony, I’ve known you for almost half my life. I stopped asking questions long before you decided to become a superhero.”

He pursed his lips. “Was it the time I came home with six alpacas after my fortieth birthday party?”

“Around then, yeah.” She made the mistake of glancing up, and of course he’d broken out the puppy dog eyes. Bastard. “Okay, fine. Why are you polishing the suit in the living room?”

Like a kid on Christmas. “I’m glad you asked. You know how at weddings there’s that traditional thing where the bride has something old, something new, you know the rest.”

She did, and she suddenly wished she didn’t. “No.”

“So I got to thinking this old Mach 7 is still fully functional even if by technological standards it’s beyond obsolete-”

“Tony, no.”

“It’s an old suit that I’d be loaning you. That’s the borrowed part-”

“Tony.”

“I could add some new parts and spray paint it blue, which is an incredible sacrifice on my part. I hope you understand that-”

“Tony! I am not wearing an Ironman suit at our wedding!” She stood up so fast, her paperwork went flying. Pages of meticulously organized reports were in a heap at her feet. Another thing to smack him upside the head for. “Why would you ever think that’s a good idea?”

“Hey, easy there,” he said, his hands raised. “That’s not at all what I meant.”

“Yes it is!”

“Well… okay, what if it walks you down the aisle?”

“My dad is going to do that.”

“But your dad hates me!”

“He does not hate you, Tony.”

“He set his dogs on me at the Christmas party. I really liked those pants, you know.”

“I’m still not wearing that suit at our wedding.”

Tony pouted. It was significantly less effective than the puppy eyes; Pepper had long since become immune to that quivering lip of his. “Okay then… I could design you a new suit!”

“I’m not wearing any suit and neither are you,” she pointed an accusatory finger at him before he could open his mouth. “So don’t get any ideas.”

“I wasn’t even thinking that!”

“Yes you were.”

He pouted some more. And folded his arms. Amazing how a man in his fifties could look so much like a five year old. “Is there anything fun you’ll let me do?”

A few things came to mind right away, but none of them were suitable for a wedding. After the wedding maybe, but that was a matter for another day. For now, Pepper gathered her work papers into a neat and semi reorganized pile. Her ring glittered in the light, banishing her exasperation and filling her with an indescribable warmth. She couldn’t wait until a gold band sat under it.

“How about this?” Tony threw aside his stained polish rag. “You let me remake your dress in hot rod red and gold titanium.”

Pepper choked on air. “Are you serious?”

“Come on! You’d look amazing, and then millions of women around the world will copy you. Think of the trends you’d set.”

“Think of my mother having a heart attack,” Pepper said. “I’m wearing my grandma’s dress, you know.”

“Don’t you think she’d want you to look badass on your big day?”

“I think she’d want me to look like a bride. Brides wear white.”

“FRIDAY, change of plans.” Tony tapped the invisible piece in his ear. “We’re painting the suit in white now. Scratch the blue.”

“You got it, Boss. What about the usher and caterer suits? We still doing black?”

“Of course. Only my lovely bride gets to stand out.” He winked at Pepper.

She pinched the bridge of her nose as Tony walked over and kneeled beside her. He kissed her temple, his lips soft as she unconsciously licked her own.

“Why am I marrying you again? Remind me.”

“FRIDAY. Pull up that list of all seven hundred and forty three qualities that make me a perfect husband-to-be for Pepper.”

The list appeared on one of the holographic computer screens set up around the room. It scrolled up at a rate too fast to read, not that Pepper would’ve tried.

“Somehow, I thought that list would be longer.”

Tony shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a humble guy.”

It was about that time Pepper decided Tony should stop talking. She pulled him down by his shirt and gave his mouth something better to do.

#pepperony

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hofculctr · 3 years ago

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Hofstra University

18th Annual Great Writers, Great Readings Series presents

Jason Schneiderman

Author of four books of poems, most recently Hold Me Tight (Red Hen, 2020). He edited the anthology Queer: A Reader for Writers (Oxford UP, 2016). His poems and essays have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, and he is a longstanding co-host of the podcast Painted Bride Quarterly Slush Pile. His awards include the Shestack Award and a Fulbright Fellowship. He is an associate professor of English at the Borough of Manhattan Community College and teaches in the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College.

Wednesday, April 13, 6:30 p.m. Guthart Cultural Center Theater

Advance registration required. Attendees must be fully vacinated. Evidence of vaccination will be required at time of entry with Hofstra Pride Pass or proof of vaccination and government ID.

Mask-wearing is optional in indoor places on campus. More information and to RSVP visit http://tiny.cc/0mkquz

#Hofstra #HofstraGWGR

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cambridgewritersworkshop · 6 years ago

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The Cambridge Writers’ Workshop is delighted to have our writing faculty from our 2018 Summer in Paris Writing Retreat featured at SpokenWord Paris and Paris Lit Up this summer!

SpokenWord Paris featuring Kathleen Spivack Adrian Leeds’ Après-Midi (Café de la Mairie) * 3-5 pm corner of rue des Archives & rue de Bretagne Paris, France 75003

Kathleen Spivack will read from her latest novel Unspeakable Things, which deals with refugees from Eastern Europe coming over to New York during World War II. The main characters are members of a string quartet smuggled out of Europe and deals with their displacement and eventual redemption.

Begun in France while the Maurice Papon Trials were going on, in Unspeakable ThingsKathleen weaves her own family’s experience as immigrant refugees with her encounters with individuals she met when she lived and taught in the French university system off and on for almost 30 years. France has been a home and a temporary way stop for people escaping oppression, and this is why Kathleen is so very happy to be able to share this novel with you.

Kathleen Spivack is the author of ten books, prose and poetry (Knopf, Doubleday, Graywolf, etc). Her most recent novel Unspeakable Things (Knopf) centers on European refugees in New York City, struggling to survive during the last years of the Second World War. Kathleen’s previous book was With Robert Lowell and His Circle: Plath, Sexton, Bishop, Rich, Kunitz and others (University Press of New England). Kathleen arrived in Boston in 1959 on a scholarship to study with Robert Lowell. Lowell introduced her to the poets of that time, who took her under their wing. This memoir centers on how these poets approached their work.

Other books include: A History of Yearning, Winner of the Sows Ear International Poetry Prize 2010, the London Book Festival Poetry Prize, and others; Moments of Past Happiness (Earthwinds/Grolier Editions); The Beds We Lie In (Scarecrow), nominated for a Pulitzer Prize; The Honeymoon (Graywolf); Swimmer in the Spreading Dawn (Applewood); The Jane Poems (Doubleday); and Flying Inland(Doubleday). She has also published in magazines and anthologies, including The New Yorker, Ploughshares, The Atlantic Monthly, The Paris Review, The Chicago Review, Poetry, Massachusetts Review, Solas Awards, and many others. Her work has also been translated into French. Her work has been featured at festivals in France and in the United States. She performs in theatres, often with music. Kathleen is a recipient of the Allen Ginsberg Poetry Award and a Discovery Winner among many others. She has also received grants from the Fulbright Commission, National Endowment for the Arts and various organizations. Her residencies include Yaddo, MacDowell, the American Academy in Rome, Ragdale, Karolyi Foundation, etc.

Since 1990, Kathleen has been a visiting professor of American Literature/Creative Writing (one semester annually) throughout the French University System. In the U.S. she directs an advanced writing program and has been named by the National Writers’ Union as “best writing coach”. Her students have published widely and won major prizes. You will too! For more information on Kathleen Spivack, please visit her website at www.kathleenspivack.org. You can also follow her on Facebook.

Paris Lit Up featuring Rita Banerjee Culture Rapide * July 26, 2018 * 8:45 – 11:00 pm 103 rue Julien Lacroix, 75020 Paris, France

Paris Lit Up will host Rita Banerjee as their featured writer on July 16, 2018 from 8:45 – 11:00 pm! Banerjee will read from her new poetry collection Echo in Four Beats (FLP, march 2018), which was selected by Finishing Line Press as their 2018 nominee for the National Book Award in Poetry, and her edited volume CREDO: An Anthology of Manifestos and Sourcebook for Creative Writing (C&R Press, May 2018). Banerjee will also read from her new collection of essays on race, sex, politics, and everything cool, and her novel-in-progress about a Tamil-Jewish family in crisis during a post-authoritarian regime.

Paris Lit Up is a non-profit community organization that aims to intensify collaborative artistic practices through community events, performance and publication. With emphasis on transnational writers, artists and musicians, Paris Lit Up promotes the importance of artistic synergy through transparent, democratic, consensus-based decision making.

Rita Banerjee is the Executive Creative Director of the Cambridge Writers’ Workshop and editor of CREDO: An Anthology of Manifestos and Sourcebook for Creative Writing (C&R Press, May 2018). She is the author of the poetry collection Echo in Four Beats (Finishing Line Press, March 2018),which was named one of Book Riot’s “Must-Read Poetic Voices of Split This Rock 2018”, was nominated for the 2018 Kate Tufts Discovery Award, and was selected by Finishing Line Press as their 2018 nominee for the National Book Award in Poetry. Banerjee is also the author of the novella “A Night with Kali” in Approaching Footsteps (Spider Road Press, 2016), and the poetry chapbook Cracklers at Night (Finishing Line Press, 2010). She received her doctorate in Comparative Literature from Harvard and her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Washington, and she is a recipient of a Vermont Studio Center Artist’s Grant, the Tom and Laurel Nebel Fellowship, and South Asia Initiative and Tata Grants. Her writing appears in the Academy of American Poets, Poets & Writers, Nat. Brut., The Scofield, The Rumpus, Painted Bride Quarterly, Mass Poetry, Hyphen Magazine, Los Angeles Review of Books, Electric Literature, VIDA: Women in Literary Arts, AWP WC&C Quarterly, Queen Mob’s Tea House, Riot Grrrl Magazine, The Fiction Project, Objet d’Art, KBOO Radio’s APA Compass, and elsewhere. She is the Director of the MFA in Writing & Publishing program at the Vermont College of Fine Arts, an Associate Scholar at Harvard, and the judge for the 2017 Minerva Rising “Dare to Speak” Poetry Chapbook Contest. She is currently working on a novel, a documentary film about race and intimacy, a book on South Asian literary modernisms, and a collection of lyric essays on race, sex, politics, and everything cool.

More information about Rita Banerjee’s Echo in Four Beats and CREDO Book Tours available here!

Paris Lit Up featuring Kristina Marie Darling Culture Rapide * August 9, 2018 * 8:45 – 11:00 pm 103 rue Julien Lacroix, 75020 Paris, France

Cancel any August vacation right now. Why? Because we are incredibly luckily to be hosting the writer extraordinaire Kristina Marie Darling on August 9 at the PLU open mic! Sign up from 8pm, wiggle your bums down around 8.45pm. Here’s her delicious bio… seriously, read it.

Kristina Marie Darling is the author of thirty books, including Look to Your Left: The Poetics of Spectacle (University of Akron Press, 2020); Je Suis L’Autre: Essays & Interrogations (C&R Press, 2017), which was named one of the “Best Books of 2017” by The Brooklyn Rail; and DARK HORSE: Poems (C&R Press, 2018). Her work has been recognized with three residencies at Yaddo, where she has held both the Martha Walsh Pulver Residency for a Poet and the Howard Moss Residency in Poetry; a Fundación Valparaíso fellowship; a Hawthornden Castle Fellowship, funded by the Heinz Foundation; an artist-in-residence position at Cité Internationale des Arts in Paris; three residencies at the American Academy in Rome; two grants from the Whiting Foundation; a Morris Fellowship in the Arts; and the Dan Liberthson Prize from the Academy of American Poets, among many other awards and honors. Her poems appear in The Harvard Review, Poetry International, New American Writing, Nimrod, Passages North, The Mid-American Review, and on the Academy of American Poets’ website, Poets.org. She has published essays in The Kenyon Review, Agni, Ploughshares, The Gettysburg Review, Gulf Coast, The Iowa Review, and numerous other magazines. Kristina currently serves as Editor-in-Chief of Tupelo Press and Tupelo Quarterly, an opinion columnist at The Los Angeles Review of Books, and a contributing writer at Publishers Weekly.

July 10, 26, & August 9, 2018: SpokenWord Paris feat. Kathleen Spivack & Paris Lit Up feat. Rita Banerjee & Kristina Marie Darling The Cambridge Writers' Workshop is delighted to have our writing faculty from our 2018 Summer in Paris Writing Retreat featured at SpokenWord Paris and Paris Lit Up this summer!

#Cambridge Writers&039; Workshop Summer in Paris Writing Retreat #fiction #France #French #Kathleen Spivack #Kristina Marie Darling #nonfiction #Paris #Paris Lit Up #poetry #reading #Rita Banerjee #SpokenWord Paris

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yespoetry · 7 years ago

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Amy Saul-Zerby: Memories Become Clutter

memories become clutter

you tell me the light falls

in slats but i don’t see it any-

more. limbs slackened as

your hands around my

neck in the dark would have

in time. don’t tell me about

bravery, take my name

in vain, i am ready to let go

of specificity & the idea

that i know anything

a rose is a rose is a rose

and i don’t remember why

Amy Saul-Zerby is the author of Deep Camouflage (Civil Coping Mechanisms) and Paper Flowers Imaginary Birds (Be About It Press). Her poems have appeared in Painted Bride Quarterly, Spy Kids Review, Mad House, and Bedfellows Magazine. She is editor in chief of Voicemail Poems and a contributing writer at Fields Magazine and The Rumpus.

#Amy Saul-Zerby #poetry #special feature

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mtairyartgarage-blog · 4 years ago

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International Women’s Day: Celebrating Women & The Arts

We’re celebrating International Women’s Day at the Mt. Airy Art Garage – and some amazing local and citywide women artists have stepped up to make this happen. Choirs, poets, spoken word artists, musicians, filmmakers, dancers, actors, painters, media gurus, and more. Join us in celebration and conversation!

So, feel free to read on, check out the artists’ bios, and spread the word about this event. Tell your friends, family, and even that passerby on the street! Everyone is welcome. Buy your tickets now or at the door. $10 donation per event or $25 for the entire weekend.

Outloud! A Celebration of Female Voices Friday, March 8th, 7-10 pm

An opening kick-off celebration that will focus on some of Philadelphia’s finest music and poetry.

Featured Performers: Anna Crusis Women’s Choir, TS Hawkins, Tamara Oakman, Victoria Peurifoy, Sister Cities Girlchoir, Yolanda Wisher, DJ Teriyaki, and Hannah Zaic!

Cocktail Reception Saturday, March 9th, 7-9 pm

Stop by, have a drink, chat, and see what we’re all about, here, at the Mt. Airy Art Garage.

Women In Media And The Arts—A Conversation Sunday, March 10th, 1-3 pm

An interactive conversation revolving around the past, present, and future of women in the arts. All are encouraged to attend, share, and question.

Featured Speakers: Michele Freeman, Sharon Katz, Nathea Lee, Janet Mason, Arleen Olshan, Nadine Patterson, and Jeanette Woods.

Learn more about our guest artists below!

Anna Crusis Women’s Choir

Anna Crusis Women’s Choir is committed to musical excellence and social change, singing to celebrate the diversity of women’s lives and culture. Anna Crusis is the country’s longest running feminist choir. In her thirty-seven year history, Anna has sought to act as an agent of social change by empowering, challenging and uplifting audiences with music that inspires and transforms. Anna has grown from a choir founded to promote women’s music, giving gay and straight women a strong community where they could find their voice and live their feminist principles, to a premier performing arts group and an important advocate for change in the greater Philadelphia region. Anna Crusis is committed to reaching diverse audiences and supports the work of fellow community organizations by singing at benefits and fundraisers.

Anna Crusis continues to promote these ideals with an emphasis on music by, for and about women and their lives. The choir values diversity and inclusion in its membership, its audiences and its repertoire. While honoring their common ground, choir members work to respect and learn from each other, from their differences in sexual orientation, racial and cultural heritage, age, class and spiritual expression.

Anna Crusis is a charter member of the international organization GALA Choruses (Gay and Lesbian Association of Choruses), which fosters the continued artistic and organizational growth of its member choruses through festivals, workshops and ongoing networking and administrative support services.

Anna is currently under the direction of Miriam Davidson, Artistic Director.

Michelle Freeman

With an ongoing love for her native Philadelphia region, Michelle has been working in marketing and events since she was in high school. Promoting concerts and handling flyer distribution projects as a teen, she eventually headed to Drexel University and received a degree in Corporate Communications while simultaneously working to establish and grow non-profit organization, Campus Philly. She worked in various positions at Campus Philly where she produced Campus Philly College Day and served as Senior Manager for Events and Media Programs. More recently, Michelle has been operating her own agency, Witty Gritty Marketing & Events. Amongst other things, she has implemented marketing programs and hosted events for the City Reps Office, City Food Tours, Campus Philly, and Philly Swap. She serves as publisher for the online magazine, Flying Kite. Michelle is also committed to volunteering and serves as a board member at Girls Rock Philly, and Spiral Q Puppet Theater. Occasionally you can see her around town DJing under the name DJ Teriyaki.

Sharon Katz

South African musician and humanitarian, Sharon Katz founded The Peace Train—a tour of 150 musicians by train across South Africa—in 1992 to help Nelson Mandela end Apartheid and has continued spreading a message of peace and reconciliation through performances and workshops in festivals, colleges and concert halls around the world.

Her recordings include “Imbizo” on Billboard’s Highly Recommended list and Grammy nomination list for Best World Music Album; “Crystal Journey” featuring the original 500 voice choir; “Lerato” with the legendary Afro-jazz diva Dolly Rathebe; “Live in NYC with Special Guest Pete Seeger;” “Double Take” with South African divas Abigail Kubeka and Dolly Rathebe; and “Carnival!” with Sting, Elton John, Tina Turner and Madonna. “When Voices Meet”, a full length documentary about The Peace Train, will be released in 2013. Sharon Katz & The Peace Train use proceeds from their appearances for their humanitarian work in under-developed areas of South Africa and around the world including music therapy with orphans and communities affected by HIV/AIDS; feeding programs in impoverished areas; conflict resolution work in violence-torn regions; and building schools and community arts centers. Sharon Katz & The Peace Train, the heartbeat of world music, www.SharonKatz.com

TS Hawkins

TS Hawkins is an actor, internationally recognized author, performance poet, wedding Officiant & producer/host for her radio station. Hawkins is fresh off her mini tour titled Silent No More in which she wrote the text “Cartons of Ultrasounds” and infused various directors, mask makers and puppeteers on each leg of the tour. She is soon to release her 7th publication, The Hotel Haikus, during the second installment of the Authors Under 30 Book Tour. More information on her, visit www.tspoetics.com

Nathea Lee

Mt. Airy-based photographer, Nathea Lee launched her freelance photography business in the summer of 2009. Although her business focus is live performances and special events, with a special emphasis on jazz, she delights in capturing images that reflect the heart of her subject, from performers, families and streetscapes to nature and architecture. In 2011, she was invited to be part of the multimedia team for the 3HO organization’s 10-day Winter Solstice Celebration (Kundalini Yoga retreat). 2012 was a breakout year for the enterprising and artful photographer. To honor Jazz Appreciation Month, in April, Nathea set out on a LiveJazz Journey. She is seeing and shooting a different jazz show each week for a year. In addition, her work has been published in a growing list of cultural media, including Black Renaissance Noire, thINKing dance, Philly 360°, and Acoustic Levitation; and has been featured in the exhibitions, A Day in West Orange, This Music We Call Jazz: Giant Steps, and the Philly Street Sounds Collective’s Philadelphia Open Studio Tour (POST) exhibit at The Arts Garage in North Philadelphia. She has also photographed for SmartCEO magazine, The Mann Center for the Performing Arts, and others. Nathea has been managing director of Kùlú Mèlé African Dance and Drum Ensemble since October 2009. Founded in 1969 by Robert Crowder, Kùlú Mèlé is one of Philadelphia’s oldest and most well-regarded dance companies. The company’s mission is to preserve, present and build upon the dance and music of Africa and the African Diaspora.

Janet Mason

Janet Mason is an award winning writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction, whose literary commentary is regularly featured on “This Way Out,” an international LGBT radio syndicate based in Los Angeles and aired on more than 400 radio stations in the U.S. and abroad. Her chapbooks of poetry include When I Was Straight (Insight To Riot Press) and a woman alone (Cycladic Press). Her book, Tea Leaves: a memoir of mothers and daughters was published by Bella Books in 2012 was chosen by the American Library Association to be on its 2013 Over the Rainbow List of notable LGBT books. She is currently at work on a novel. You can visit her at www.amusejanetmason.com

Tamara Oakman

Tamara Oakman’s poetry and fiction has appeared online and in print in such magazines as Painted Bride Quarterly, Philadelphia Stories and Best of Anthology, Mad Poets Review, Fox Chase Review, Certain Circuits Magazine, Many Mountains Moving, et al., with upcoming fiction in The Feminist Wire. She has awards in poetry, fiction, non-fiction, and drama, recently winning the Philadelphia Writer’s Conference memoir contest (2012). She has an MA in English and is completing her MA in Humanities from Arcadia University. She studied poet Anne Sexton at the Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center in Boston, lived in the poet’s space, and interviewed friends and colleagues—including Maxine Kumin—culminating in a 40-page research article blended with an explicative analysis of Sexton’s poetry. She has lectured on Sexton’s work. She judged the Hidden River Arts fiction and drama contest; the Montgomery County Poet Laureate contest (2012), and is currently judging a fiction and poetry contest for Ursinis College’s Dolman Prize (2013). She is cofounder and executive editor of APIARY Magazine. Come see what the buZZZ is all about!! Find ALL 5 Apiary’s in FULL and MORE at www.apiarymagazine.com.

Arleen Olshan

Arleen Olshan, visual artist and handcrafter of custom leather goods, is Cofounder of the Mt. Airy Art Garage. Arleen looks forward to the celebration of International Women’s Day every year. “It means a great deal to me that on March 8, all over the world, women are being recognized for their accomplishments and the struggles they face to self actualize.”

For over 40 years, Arleen has been an activist in the LGBTQ and Feminist communities. She has held numerous positions such as Co-Coordinator of the first Gay & Lesbian Community Center of Philadelphia, Co-Owner of Giovanni’s Room, Officer on the Steering Committee of Philadelphia Focuses on Women in the Visual Arts, and Art Director at the YWCA of Germantown. She has worked in the HIV/AIDS community and with women in recovery from drug and alcohol addiction.

For the past three years Arleen has worked at building her dream of the Mt. Airy Art Garage through outreach to practicing artists in the Northwest, community residents, and organizations in the area. Now that 90% of the buildout is complete, Arleen is working in her studio on her leather goods and has returned to drawing and painting. You can find her work at www.arleenolshan.com.

Nadine Patterson

Ms. Patterson is an award winning independent producer/director. Her training in theatre, immersion in documentary film, and intense study of world cinema enable her to create works grounded in historical contexts, with a unique visual palette. Over the past 20 years, she has taught video production at West Chester University, Temple University, Arcadia University, Drexel University, University of Western Sydney (Australia) and Scribe Video Center. She was the only filmmaker selected for The Biennial 2000 at the African American Museum in Philadelphia. Some of her films include: “I Used to Teach English,” Winner Gold Apple Award 1994 National Educational Film/Video Festival, Oakland, CA; “Anna Russell Jones: Praisesong for a Pioneering Spirit,” Best Documentary 1993 African American Women in the Arts Film/Video Competition, Chicago, IL; “Moving with the Dreaming,” Prized Pieces award from the National Black Programming Consortium in 1997; “Todo El Mundo Dance!” selected for the 2001-2002 Council on Foundations Film and Video Festival. Other notable works include: “Shizue,” screened at the Museum of Modern Art, New York in 1991; and “Release” shown at the Constellation Change Dance Film Festival of London in 2006. She completed her second masters at the London Film School.

She received funding for her film work from The Philadelphia Foundation, The National Black Programming Consortium, The Bartol Foundation, and The Pennsylvania Council on the Arts. In 2010 she received a visual arts fellowship from the Independence Foundation. In 2011 along with Ain Gordon and the Painted Bride Art Center she received a grant from the Pew Philadelphia Theater Initiative for the creation of a new work about forgotten historical places in Philadelphia. For the third year Ms. Patterson curated the Trenton International Film Festival in November 2012. She completed two milestones in 2011 by publishing her first book Always Emerging and by completing principal photography on Tango Macbeth, her first feature film as director. Tango Macbeth was featured in three film festivals in 2012 and will be on tour to New York, Chicago, Washington D.C. and Paris with the African Diaspora International Film Festival in 2013.

Victoria Huggins Peurifoy

Victoria Huggins Puerifoy is an author, Poet, Spoken word artist, Storyteller, writer, biographer, photographer, consultant, facilitator, voice talent, Narrator, and Public Speaker. She is a member of White Rock Baptist Church.

She is a self published author with seven books, three chapbooks, and two CDs to her credit. Her latest book Let the Axiom Speak and God’s Calling were recently released. She has a Liberal Arts Degree from Community College and has attended creative writing courses and workshops around the city. She is the facilitator for the Poetry and Discussion group at the Center in the Park Senior Citizen Center. Victoria also writes autobiographies for senior citizens. Her latest book is about a 92 year-old woman who commissioned her as a ghost writer. That book is called I have not lived in vain. She is currently working on an Anthology with the poets from this group. Victoria has gained popularity around Philadelphia, North and South Jersey, Baltimore, and in Delaware; for what she brings to the table provokes thought. Victoria has performed at the October Galley’s Poetry Night, The Art of Conversation, the Black Writer’s Museum’s Poetry Marathon and Story Telling Saturdays, The Ethical Society, Germantown Poetry Festival in Vernon Park, and Freedom Theatre – just to name a few. Her poetry and photography have been exhibited at the Thomas Jefferson University Hospital’s Kimmel Cancer Center. She is a regular at the First Presbyterian Church of Germantown’s – Bread and Cup Café, Poetify–Poetry to Edify, Coffee After Dark, and Panoramic Poetry – Uptown, which is hosted by October Gallery. Recently, she was featured in WHYY’s online newspaper and subsequently was Interviewed and Featured on ExposureNation.Com which is an Online radio show. “Mother’s In Charge” had Victoria to speak at a Writing Workshop for young women in crisis. The Baptist Congress for Christian Education commissioned her to conduct workshops for children who were competing for a poetry contest.

As mentioned earlier, photography is another one of her passions and she is frequently commissioned to provide photography services. As a biographer, she is commissioned to help senior citizens write their life story.

As a member of the White Rock Baptist Church she is an active member. She sings on the Church Chapel choir, is an Announcement Clerk, and a Member of the Good Shepherd Circle. Recently, she has taken on the role of secretary to The Malawi Missions, which is a new effort at her church, who is partnering with two other churches. She is a widow and has three adult children and three grandchildren with one on the way.

Sister Cities Girlchoir

Sister Cities Girlchoir is the choral training academy that invests in the unique potential of at-risk girls to transform Philadelphia and Camden. In their pilot year, the Girlchoir operates weekly during after-school hours to build resilience and connection through musical study. SCG is modeled after El Sistema, Venezuela’s monumental music and social change program. For more information on these amazing kids visit www.sistercitiesgirlchoir.org.

Yolanda Wisher

Yolanda Wisher, a poet and educator, serves as Director of Art Education for the City of Philadelphia Mural Arts Program. Wisher received a B.A. in English and Black Studies from Lafayette College and M.A. in Creative Writing/Poetry from Temple University. At the age of 23, she was named the first Montgomery County Poet Laureate. A former English teacher and radio host, Wisher is a Cave Canem Fellow and Leeway Foundation Art and Change Award recipient. Her poems have been published in Fence, Ploughshares, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and in the anthologies Gathering Ground, The Ringing Ear, and Lavanderia. From 2006-2010, Wisher was the chief architect of the Germantown Poetry Festival, a neighborhood event in Philadelphia which showcased the talents of youth and locally and nationally known poets.

Jeanette Woods

Jeanette Woods is the Community Media Editor for NewsWorks. She trains community groups and individuals in multimedia news gathering. She also develops partnerships with community-based content creators in order to feature their work on NewsWorks.org and NewsWorks Tonight. Woods joined the NewsWorks project in 2011.

Jeanette’s career has encompassed writing, reporting, field production, archival research, database design, online interface design and photo editing. Her production credits include WGBH-TV, Blackside, Inc. and National Geographic Channel. Here audio work has been featured on WAMU, Marketplace and WHYY.

Hannah Zaic

Hannah Zaic is a multi-talented, one of a kind pop artist based out of Philadelphia, PA. The daughter of a blues guitarist and poet, she was literally born to write and perform. Growing up in such an artistic atmosphere exposed her to many genres and artists which would later help her to develop the difficult-to-define style she is known for. At a young age her ambitions became apparent when she started an all female singing group at 10 and then fronted her first rock group at 15.

In 2009 Ms. Zaic left New Jersey seeking to join the thriving music scene in Philadelphia. It was there that she would form her backing band, The Damaged Goods. Within the year she was playing some of the area’s most prestigious stages and getting noticed by various media outlets in the tri-state area. But it wasn’t long before she would establish herself as a fixture on the singer-songwriter circuit throughout the Northeast. Her music, which can be described as pop with elements of the blues and rock, tells stories through carefully crafted lyrics and rich melody lines. On stage, she consistently delivers dynamic stage shows, drawing her audiences in and involving them in each performance. As a vocalist, Hannah manages to combine her soulful vocal skills, which have been likened to Sara Bareilles and angelic tone with a playful indie edge reminiscent of a young Aimee Mann.

Her debut album, [something clever] is due out in early 2013. For more information on Hannah Zaic and The Damaged Goods go to, www.HannahZaic.com, find her on Facebook through Hannah Zaic and the Damaged Goods or follow her on Twitter @ www.Twitter.com/HannahZaic.

#2013

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finishinglinepress · 3 years ago

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NEW RELEASE FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: Skin. Hair. Bones. by Maria McLeod

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Skin. Hair. Bones. is a body of carnal knowledge in poetic form. Equal parts excavation and incantation, this collection deconstructs desire as an act of emancipation from seduction’s hold. In verse that marries conscience and corporeal, the poet details the pursuit of intimacy and the pitfalls of its entanglements. Skin. Hair. Bones. reminds readers how they are made human — broken, yet whole.

Maria McLeod writes poetry, prose and dramatic monologues. Honors include the Indiana Review Poetry Prize, the Robert J. DeMott Short Prose Prize, three Pushcart Prize nominations, and Winner of the 2020 WaterSedge Poetry Chapbook Contest for her first chapbook, “Mother Want.” She has been published in leading literary journals such as Puerto Del Sol, Painted Bride Quarterly, Critical Quarterly, Crab Orchard Review, Sonora Review and others. Originally from the Detroit area, McLeod currently resides in the Pacific Northwest where she works as a professor of journalism for Western Washington University in Bellingham, Washington.

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR Skin. Hair. Bones. by Maria McLeod

In her new chapbook, “Skin. Hair. Bones,” Maria McLeod writes about Eros and remorse, love and its betrayal. Passion is a seductive prison, a delicious circle of hell to which lovers are damned. As one of them says (describing the anesthesia before surgery), “What better way to stave off sorrow/than to luxuriate in the abyss.” While the ostensible subject of “Skin. Hair. Bones.” is the prison of the carnal, the real subjects are mortality and grief. What a marvelously intelligent and provocative book this is.

–Lynn Emanuel, author of “The Nerve of It: New and Selected Poems”

With its visceral and fluid language, its stunning images of memory, dream, and reflection, “Skin. Hair. Bones.” constructs a story told in bodies. In the beginning is the tongue: the speaker’s tongue defines her lover as wrist, mouth, muscle, sacrament—a reshaping of faith that animates the poems of this collection. Through the skilled tongue of the poet, everything is embodied, including the soul, and everything brought to light: “we were chewed off at the ankles the wrists / we were out of the trap.” This is a wonderfully astute and adventurous collection.

–Barbara Edelman, author of “Dream of the Gone-From City”

Please share/please repost [PROMO] #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #poetry

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cabildoquarterly · 7 years ago

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Two Poems: Kelli Stevens Kane

seconds

Leave out the stagnant scraps, Cut every moment that stands still, I want to see a rose bud sprout, Bloom and die in ten seconds flat. Time-lapse everything.

I remember being three years old, Standing up on a chair, Staring through the oven window, Waiting for that one magic moment When the store-bought cinnamon rolls my mama made Would inflate all at once Like they do on TV. I still want to see it. Time-lapse everything.

I mean if the rolls rise too slowly My eyes adjust and they just can’t see progress.

Sometimes you have to look away to see it, Like when three-year-olds Gone for two week vacations Come back looking bigger And they are bigger, We measured. Time-lapse everything.

When I go back to Pittsburgh once a year And see the details of the retail landscape Change on Penn Avenue, Seems like some stores change owners every minute And the trees Must be Miracle-Gro junkies.

And at those high school reunions, Where we gather to see the walking age-enhanced sketches of classmates, high school seems like last week.

In the time it takes to read this I see your faces shrink and wrinkle, And I am so old I don’t know what to do without fast forward And it’s no wonder: Time-lapse takes time And presses it into pancakes That roll off your plate While you’re not even looking.

And here I stand At the end of my life Searching for the cutting room floor: The room where all the scraps are stored— The one filled with the thin Flimsy lengths of curled film, All the moments before the rose blooms, Popcorn in butter under that lid Before the explosion starts. I have got to find that room And rest there eternally away from Time-lapse everything.

And when I find it, I will wade in the unpopped moments, Float on the ocean of overlooked minutes, I want seconds, Another cinnamon roll, Anything To escape Time-lapse everything.

part

after “Portrait of Giovanni della Volta with his Wife and Children, 1547”

Window with no wind, teases. Last night the children slept, my husband slept, and I stepped outside. My hair, unpinned,

flowed. I'd been dreaming of fire. My face, flush, wanted a storm. The sky was calm but for the slightest breeze. I stood

there, still, and let it soothe me. Let it put out one blaze, turn, and ignite new ones. This morning my husband stands here still

beside me. I've dressed our girl as I am dressed, halved our hair, and pulled it tight. I've draped our son in cloth

made of clear sky. In my painting, we are all wearing sky. Whose idea was this. These pearls, these cherries, choke.

***

Kelli Stevens Kane is a poet, playwright, and oral historian. She's a Cave Canem Fellow and an August Wilson Center Fellow. Her recent publications include Painted Bride Quarterly, North American Review, Under a Warm Green Linden, Split This Rock, and African Voices. Look for more of her work in Cabildo Quarterly #12. For more info visit kellistevenskane.com

#Kelli Stevens Kane #Cabildo Quarterly #Poetry #Poems

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charlottecovey · 7 years ago

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Thirteen things to do (or not to do!) when submitting to literary journals

Hi! In the past few months, peers have been asking me questions about submitting to literary journals. This is something that I have been doing quite often (and that is putting it lightly) for the last several years. I finally managed to compile a nice little list of things I think are important to know about submitting. Feel free to message / email me with additional questions; I’m sure there’s something I’ve forgotten to cover!

1. READ ALL THE GUIDELINES. This is so important! I just had to make it first on the list. It’s especially important to pay attention to because, while a lot of journals have very similar guidelines, a lot of them have a few weird specific things that set them apart from the rest of the literary journals. For example, Barely South Review requires that you submit each poem separately. Western Humanities asks that the subject line of your submission (generally where the title of the piece goes) be your last name, first name, and then the genre of your work. Some journals only read blind, and ask that you not put any identifying information in the document you send them. Some journals will only read your submission if you have your name, mailing address, phone number, and email address listed at the top of every page. Basically, don’t give editors any reason to reject you as soon as they open your file; pay attention to the little things.

2. Get to know the market. This takes time. It’s taken me over three years to get fairly good at this. Read a sample of the journal if you can. A tip for cheapskates like me: if it’s a print journal that doesn’t feature any work online, find the table of contents of their most recent issue. Google a couple of the writers in that issue. Somewhere, they have all probably published SOMETHING online. Read some of their stuff. It’s not the best way to do things, but it should give you SOME idea of the aesthetic of a particular journal. Also, remember that most journals will take at least three months to get back you. Some only take a month or two, but others, like Painted Bride Quarterly, can take over a year. Keep that in mind as you send work out. Know what to expect. Remember to be patient.

3. Do not sell yourself short. Ask around. Talk to writers you know and respect. Don’t send your stuff to low-tier journals with obscenely high acceptance rates; you’re better than that! You’ll feel much more accomplished if a journal you respect takes your work than if a journal that takes almost everything does. Generally, I only submit to journals that have an acceptance rate of 5% or less. Duotrope is an excellent resource for this kind of information. It’s fifty dollars a year for a membership, but you get access to a lot of valuable information like acceptance rates, response times, and a really cool (and useful) submission tracker feature. However, if you can’t afford it, there is a poorman’s way of getting an idea of what tier a journal falls in. If you Google: “Duotrope Journal Title” (for example, “Duotrope Fifth Wednesday”), then you can see some of the information on a journal’s Duotrope page (the really good stuff is hidden unless you pay for an account). However, look at the left corner, by the title of the journal. See the little star with a number next to it? That’s how many users are tracking that particular journal’s listing. For context, at my last check, The Kenyon Review had 1,037 stars. Rat’s Ass Review had 36. My (rough) rule of thumb is that the higher number of stars correlates to a more successful, popular journal. This is not always the case, due to acceptance rates. Eunoia Review has 226 stars, but the acceptance rate is 25% (aka, too damn high). It’s not a perfect system, and I really do recommend getting a Duotrope account, but do your best. Ask around. Do some research. Poets & Writers is a good source, too. They have a literary magazines database that lists circulation numbers, aka, how many people are reading / subscribing. Very useful.

4. There are exceptions to the rule! Help your friends out. We are all trying to make it in the writing / publishing world. If your pals start a journal, and they ask you to send them something, do it! If you get a solicitation, that’s awesome! Do it! However, DON’T expect to get accepted to a journal just because you were solicited. And maybe don’t send your friend’s journal the poem that you’re sure is good enough for Tin House (unless, of course, your friend works at Tin House).

5. Always submit as much work as you can! This mostly pertains to poetry. If a journal asks for 3-5 poems, always send five! Your chances grow! This whole thing is just a numbers game, after all!

6. Keep careful records. Make an Excel sheet. Right now. Put in every piece you submit, and every journal each piece goes out to. I like to color code mine. Just make sure that YOU understand your chart. It is SO important to keep good records. Once you get an acceptance somewhere (and you will!), you need to be able to withdraw the piece from every other journal it is out at, and you’ll need to be able to do it in a timely manner. If you don’t, and ANOTHER journal ends up wanting to take the same piece, they’re going to feel super sour when you have to decline them, and you’re going to feel super salty, since this makes you look disorganized and unprofessional. Everybody makes mistakes, but try to avoid this one. You may think that you’ll never need to withdraw right away, since the idea of a piece getting accepted to TWO places is so foreign to you, but trust me, it does happen from time to time. Just keep good records and avoid the hassle.

7. Keep your cover letter simple. Please. If you’re trying to be funny in your cover letter, chances are you’re not funny. I have a cover letter that I copy and paste in every submission:

Dear Editors, The attached poems are for your consideration. They are unpublished. This is a simultaneous submission. Thank you for your time and effort. Charlotte Covey

See how simple! I also have a biographical statement that I paste below my cover letter, like so:

Dear Editors, The attached poems are for your consideration. They are unpublished. This is a simultaneous submission. Thank you for your time and effort. Charlotte Covey Biographical Note: Charlotte is from St. Mary's County, Maryland. Currently, she is an MFA candidate in Poetry at the University of Missouri - St. Louis. She has poetry published or forthcoming in journals such as The Normal School, Salamander Review, CALYX Journal, the minnesota review, and The Monarch Review, among others. In 2017, she was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She is co-editor-in-chief of Milk Journal and an assistant editor for Natural Bridge.

Nothing fancy! Don’t make either your cover letter or your biographical note too long. Keep it short and simple! Only list your five best publications, and that’s my personal maximum. I know some people like to list their entire bibliography, but there is a point when your note just looks a little braggy. If you don’t have any publications, that’s okay! Say if you’re in school! Mention if you’re involved with a journal or your local writing scene! Even though I do genuinely believe that mentioning previous publications makes a difference to some editors (just my own, personal theory), journals also like fresh talent! If a journal accepts your piece, and it’s your first publication, that’s awesome! Everyone starts somewhere.

8. Don’t give up! Rejections happen. Writing is subjective. I probably received over fifty rejections before I got my first acceptance. That’s normal! Acting, singing, writing-- any creative field comes with a lot of rejection, so self-confidence is extremely important. When you get rejected (yes, when, not if) make sure to add that information to your records (VERY important, or you might accidentally send a journal a piece they’ve already rejected; I’ve done this once or twice-- OOPS!), and then delete the rejection off your Submittable page. We don’t need that kind of negativity in our lives!

9. Remember, submitting work is essentially a numbers game. Not everybody is as crazy as I am (at last count, I am out at one hundred eleven journals. Woof!), but don’t expect a success story if you’re only out at four or five journals at a time. My mentor and favorite professor, John A. Nieves, always told me that a good rule of thumb is to always have each of your polished pieces out at five journals. Really, I don’t think it matters too much how many journals each piece is out at, as long as you can keep track of it all. I’m a bit of a wild one, and I’ve been known to have one poem out at over twenty places at once. This is perfectly fine, AS LONG AS you keep meticulous records and don’t mind withdrawing the piece from twenty individual journals if it gets accepted (I have this down to a science now. Just give me a laptop and twenty minutes).

10. Stop obsessing. That’s hilarious, coming from me, but listen: you are never going to think a piece is perfect. If it is clear and proofread and polished, send it out. You can always keep revising it and have the final form in your first book :) Just don’t let obsessing over a piece not being “perfect” keep you from sending it out. You’d be surprised how many first drafts of mine ended up finding homes in respectable journals. And even then, I keep revising them! But if your piece gets rejected constantly, it may be a sign that you should consider tweaking some things. Again, writing is subjective. There’s a market for your work somewhere out there.

11. DO NOT post your unpublished work on Facebook. Don’t post it on your Tumblr or on Hello Poetry. This essentially makes the piece useless, publication-wise. Almost every journal wants First North American Serial Rights. Basically, this means they want credit for being the first people to publish your piece. Unfortunately, posting your work ANYWHERE online essentially means it is “published,” since the public now has access to it. A journal isn’t going to want a piece that everyone has already seen! Which leads me to my next point:

12. DO NOT SELF-PUBLISH!!!! Self-publishing is the kiss of death. You miss out on TONS of first book contests and awards, and journals and presses WILL judge you. Basically, self-publishing makes people think that no one would publish your work, so you decided to do it yourself. I am begging you not to self-publish. It is THE KISS OF DEATH. If you keep getting rejected, revise. Workshop. But DO NOT SELF-PUBLISH. It’s expensive, and generally, no one will end up buying your book anyway, since there isn’t a press to advertise / promote you. If you want your friends and family to see your work, just show them the next time you hang out. But please don’t self-publish. It is an overall bad idea. Please. Just be patient. Keep working. You’ll get there.

13. Get involved! Networking is so important for writers. Go to readings when you can. Read your own work when you can. Go to AWP, if you can afford it. Learn about the publishing world. Immerse yourself in it. Understand that as much as we like to think it is, writing is definitely not a solitary endeavor :)

Happy submitting! <3

Love, Charlotte

#journals #journal submissions #publishing #poetry #fiction #writers #creative writing

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