Reviews: UFO 3

91CNXNKlEzLLast week, Tangent Online published a triple review of Unidentified Funny Objects 3, edited by Alex Schvartsman. I read them with one eye closed, ready for the great shoe in the sky to come down on my head.

However, the reviewers had nothing but praise for “Into the Woods, With Zombunny,” noting that as utterly ridiculous as the story and concept were, my utter commitment to the zany saved the day.

You can read the reviews here and pre-order your own copy here.

Healing Thoughts

Last Tuesday I finally resigned myself to surgery I should have had months ago for the ruptured disc sitting on my radial nerve. Almost 10 days later, I’m experiencing new pains and limitations, but all in the name of a pain free life six to twelve weeks from now.

I visited my specialist who cautioned me to take it easy. It’s hard. I love reading and catching up on guilty TV series, but I also feel an underlying panic. Is the house clean? Should I have gone to the grocery store? Is there something I haven’t done?

I’m consoling myself with my mantra that art out requires art in. So if I’m a bit quiet for the next couple of weeks, it’s only because I’m focusing on ingesting art (and the basket of chocolate covered everything my darling Izzy sent me). xo

Tug of War

Ea10594216_10152396896853725_1837445640_orlier this month, I made a quick trip back to Montana to participate in a collaborative art project. My hometown of Billings is a place I’ve had trouble reconciling over the years. As an adult, I didn’t believe I belonged there. After five years in larger cities, the homogenous feel of the town was a bit smothering — I didn’t wear the right clothes or listen to the right music or think the right things. And yet, I want to want to be there. It is where my roots are, the last of my family, the vistas I know by heart.

I’ve spent more than a quarter of 2014 in Montana and it’s almost as if I can’t escape. 10594212_10152397783038725_273837226_o


There are people making a difference. 10563241_10152398473888725_1688343422_o



People using art to start a conversation. Some of these people were my friends. Now almost all of them are my friends. Asked to join in the concept of “Tug of War: Where Conflict Resides,” I sent a batch of appropriate work. Directors Krista and 10566186_10152396896753725_1645549653_oMike (who developed the idea), selected “The Great Divide” and “From the Kitchen of Helena Wilson” as components for the show. Around there were moments of dance, poetry, visual art, metaphor, audience inclusion, heat, light, breath, and the magic that comes from being a part of something truly unique.    10592094_10152396896603725_1259011211_n

I sat talking to some of the younger dancers before the show. They weren’t sure what some of the pieces meant, how they related to a tug of war. Some of their confusion, I said, was because they still had so much life to live before they could feel love and loss the way those of us in our 30s do. I hope someday they’ll look back and realize how lucky they were to touch so many creative minds at once, supported by a subset of a community that loved us back. I know I’ll carry this tiny hope, this flame of gratitude with me for the rest of my life. xo

Please check out just a few of the artists I was privileged to work with:

Cascade Writers 2014

10521745_10152353904753725_1063133844_nI’m running the Cascade Writers Conference this weekend — scheduling and bustling and talking. It’s so much fun to have this small community of writers, connecting circles and fostering friendships.

Last night we skipped traditional programming and hosted a meet & greet instead. We played a game and ate cake and at the end of the evening, groups had formed to start writing, socializing and creating. Unlike my dog (pictured) everyone was cooperative about wearing their badges, even the first year folks, who we badge with a color to make sure they are included, welcomed, and nurtured.

Today starts the first of the critiques and I’ll be watching for folks, who, like me, found their first experience to be unexpectedly emotional. Life happens all around us, even when we’re here in this safe space. I take this responsibility seriously and though I’ll be the most relaxed come Sunday, the big worries are over and now we come to the business of writing.  xo

The Sea

Update 8/27/14: Editor Nerine Dorman has found a new home for this anthology. An updated purchase link will be provided as soon as we have access.

Update 8/13/14: Dark Continents Press has sadly closed its doors. I have a few copies of The Sea in paperback and, of course, the electronic version if you are interested in reading. Please contact me for details.

“Songs of the Sea,” my first and (only) pirate story is out today in Dark Continents Press’ beautiful anthology, The Sea. Available now electronically with paperback version to follow.

Thanks for reading. xo

You Said There Wouldn’t Be Bears

Up today at Big Truths (a division of the beautiful Little Fiction), my segmented essay “You Said There Wouldn’t Be Bears” explores fear and the times in life when fear surprises us.

These days, You Said There Wouldn’t Be Bears is a personal refrain. Every time I’m hyperbolic (which is a lot, surprise) or prone to generalities and pronouncements (also a lot), I hear it in my head. The humbling bear bounds down the mountain and makes me re-examine from whence my bluster comes. But the less I know I know, the less scared I become.

Thanks for reading. xo

Writing Process Blog Tour

Lately I’ve been late a lot. This isn’t normal. I’m the person pacing the block before your party. I pad my padded time, leaving 15 minutes early before I go anywhere. I will spare you the excuses. But it naturally it falls that I’ve been going to publish writing process blog sharing thing for some time now. I was tagged by VP classmate (and writer of some pretty terrific YA), Nicole Lisa and I’m passing the baton onto once of my very favorite creatives, Jill Seidenstein.


As soon as a recent dose of “Life” removes its heel from my windpipe, I’ll get back to my new novel — a tale of Cassandra and Cressida as they find themselves amidst a near future, post-pandemic Trojan War set in the New West.

Even though I’ve been anxious about getting to the writing part, having a longer time to think about my characters before I dive in isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I write quickly when I know where I’m going. When I don’t I meander and start down roads I inevitably abandon. While I’m dealing with “life”, I can use my downtime to mentally explore Cassandra and Cressida so that they are lifelike and natural when I finally put them on the page.


My work straddles the line between literary and genre fiction, almost to the point of being unclassifiable. The fantasy elements in my latest novel-in-progress will be barely there (Cassandra is a seer, but I haven’t added any other magical sorts of elements *yet*). However, I am dealing with mythology and a culture with a deep reverence for god(s). My writing explores the facets of friendship and family and love and hate and home as if they were all a part of the same gem — in my experience, they are.


We retell stories over and over. As a novelist, I find myself interested in the characters I feel haven’t had their say, to shine a light in dark corners. As a short story writer, I want to share an image, a moment, a breath of truth — that moment when the light floods into a room (regardless of whether it’s a serious room or a zany one). I read in order to feel those moments and I want to give those moments back to my readers, too.


For short stories, I usually have a sentence or two I’ve jotted down for an idea. Once I’m ready to really work said idea, I usually bang out a story in one or two sittings (any more and it’s likely the idea wasn’t as fantastic as I’d originally thought). I am a writer who needs to rest her words. I go through the resulting drafts once a week for three weeks for developmental edits and a final editing pass for typos in order to try to catch any boisterous awkwardness & errata.

As a novelist, I’m not much of an outliner, though I do enjoy drawing big maps in crayon and sketching characters on my office whiteboard. I typically jot down the high points of my characters’ arcs in a big notebook, but detailed outlining makes my prose fairly dull. (I have friends who flourish under that same model, so I’m not saying it’s wrong, just not my cuppa.) I sit down and read my progress on my kindle or printed pages — somewhere new and without distractions — in order to gut check where I’m going. I have a writing group and some trusted critique partners to look over things and give me honest feedback, without pulling punches. I also like to workshop formally and will look for those opportunities when they align.

Thanks, again, to Nicole for tagging me in this very fun exercise. I know you’ll all enjoy Jill’s take on things over at Slowbloom!


Up in the Air

I’m writing from one of my favorite places, an airplane somewhere between San Francisco and Salt Lake. For the past six weeks, I’ve stepped out of my own life to help my family. I won’t say it’s been rosebuds and cherries. It’s been tears and new chapters and torn pages and hurt feelings and sore necks and shoulders. But the project is winding down. I’m headed back to Montana tonight to collect my things, say my goodbyes, and take one of the dogs home with me to Seattle.

I’m slushing for an exciting anthology focusing on sense of place. Moving my grandmother from one home to another — neither of which have ever been my home — makes me homesick for my own little house in Seattle in a way I had not known possible. When Adam brought a couple of dresses for last weekend’s wedding, I could smell the house on them — smoke but not smoke, plants but not plants, soil, wood, the particular combination which makes our home ours.

It’s a particularly good time to read these stories as my soul reaches out for the chance to say, yes, friend. I feel that too.


1. I wrote this thing, “The Perils of Rosella.” It’s part processing a death. It’s part cracking open the chest of childhood. Its part figuring out who I am now.

2. There’s a home for this piece and it’s a mag called Cartridge Lit. I believe in what they’re doing, investing time and energy into storytelling influenced by games. Because it’s a part of our narrative. In 50 years almost no one will remember a time without this frame of reference. It’s a brilliant concept — dedicating a place for those stories.

3. It’s a piece I was terrified to write, then terrified to finish. Sometimes playing with format can burn a writer badly. But this came out burning, so it turned out to not matter so much. I read an article this morning postulating that the responsibility of any essay to make sense lies within the reader. I hope, then, that you’ll read this mixed bag of game and genre and reality and recounting of this thing and I hope somewhere deep inside it reverberates in you, dear reader. Maybe you, too, will remember a story like mine or like Amanda Miska’s tiny, gorgeous piece, FA6-DBB-4CI, or like Brian Oliu’s chilling Goonies II. These stories are in all of us, even in a game of solitaire. May we all look deep enough to find them. xo