Hey everybody!

As I promised earlier this week, I’ve come by to provide a short sample of “Four FIrewoods” ahead of its release on Amazon next week. So without further ado, here is the sample…

A cold front came through Langston that afternoon. The brisk northerly winds changed the soothing cool air of the morning into something harsh and daggerlike. When Amber gasped for air, it attacked her, suffocated her. She finally reached her little green car, the key shaking in her cold hand and scratching the door around the keyhole. Amber stabbed the key into the lock and twisted it with enough force that had her hand not been numb, she would have felt a considerable degree of pain. She instantly turned on the heat. She knew the heating wouldn’t fully kick in until she returned home, but maybe she could be lucky this time.

The Langston Elementary School parking lot looked deserted when Amber finally exited onto Langston Avenue. She taught at the school, though she didn’t particularly like her job. It paid her bills and kept her mouth fed, but she drifted through the day, assisting students here and there with spelling or science. When she was done, she moved back to her desk and rested her cheek in the palm of her hand. By the day’s final period, Amber had given up. She popped in a movie about wild cheetahs in Africa to the cheers of her second-graders.

Later that afternoon, Mr. Quinn held her after students were dismissed for the day. The principal asked Amber why she deviated from her lesson plan. Instead of leading an engaging discussion about cheetahs with her students that would have led to a writing exercise, she resigned to showing the movie. He claimed to have witnessed Amber leaning back in her chair, the lights off, her eyes nearly closed, and the blue light from the TV illuminating the children’s entertained faces. He said he saw her through the black crisscrossing on the slim window panel. Amber saw his beady, black eyes peering through the glass. She imagined Mr. Quinn lining up his vision with one of the many X’s in the frame, positioning it over Amber, wishing to cross her off. Join the club, Amber thought.

Amber stated she didn’t feel well, that the cool weather gave her a cold. It wasn’t true, even the cold part though it could have been. Mr. Quinn nodded in understanding, and taking a few steps back, wished her a good day and a happy weekend. Those words rang false for Amber, but she wished him the same regardless and departed.

So what did you think? Are you excited to read the full story next week? Let me know in the comments section or on my Facebook page.

Hello everybody!

As I mentioned on my Facebook page recently, I have decided to self-publish “Four Firewoods” on Amazon. I needed to take care of some issues before I did that (editing/reformatting/etc.). One of the things I needed was a cover. And now I finally have one…

Special thanks goes to Kristie’s Unique Covers for this amazing cover!

In addition to today’s cover reveal, I can also announce that I will post a short preview of “Four Firewoods” on Friday!

Thank you for all of your support!

As I promised yesterday, I am posting one of the three flash fiction stories I submitted to NANO Fiction for the 2015 NANO Prize. Unfortunately, I did not win. The story I post below is titled “The Sun Around Angel Wings”. I hope you enjoy.

The Sun Around Angel Wings

I grab the spine and tear it away from the shelf. The book falls into my palm. It’s the wrong character. I throw it on the ground. I grasp another—same result.

And so I continue. I empty the shelf once filled with X-Men titles until only a few remain. Characters glare up at me from their covers with their battle-ready poses. I search for my Holy Grail.

Years ago, my mother gave me an X-Men book of which I have regretfully forgotten the name, but not its cover. Angel, dressed in his classic blue-and-yellow, dives toward the reader with his fists pressed forward. The sun blazed around him and outlined the hero in a partial silhouette. The sunlight burned its way through the gaps between his feathers, the image forever imprinted among my memories.

“I don’t read these anymore,” I told my mother when she gave it to me. I threw it away unread.

My comic fascination revived. I keep at it. I claw away at the books on the shelf. I picture my mother’s near-perpetual grimace. I see sunlight fray the edges. I hear store clerks ask what the hell I’m doing. I persist.

The books lie on the floor—no Angel. The guilt that built for years finally clutches my throat. I cannot breathe. An employee pulls me up from my hands and knees.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I would like to read it now.”

THE END

So what did you think? Please let me know in the comment section below or on my Facebook page.