Thomas:
It is delightful to see that you are doing what you can for others and yourself. You are growing intellectually and emotionally into a world traveler who cares. We need more like you.

Keep up the good works and best of luck to you on getting your bride and family to join you in the US or where ever you wish to live!

Hi, thank you for the friend request! (=

Thank you for the friend invite...take care :)

Thanks for adding me! :)

Hello T F Rhoden, it is a pleasure to meet you.

Foliate Oak Literary Journal Publishes New Short Story entitled 'The Gulf'

Yay! I have a new flash fiction piece out. She is short--less than 600 words--so enjoy!


The Gulf
----------------------


Having that view of the gulf was important to the retired high school instructor. New apartments had been built, a modern shopping boulevard had been developed, and, even, a row of storage units had been constructed over the decades, but that view—his own private vantage point onto the salt water that seeps into Galveston, Texas every day—that view had been maintained.

Old Man Rockwall sat on his favorite stiff-backed chair... [read more]

Hmmmm....why is it your voice always seems to sound different when you hear it played back for you? :)

Interview with ABC Radio Australia

Seattle's 'The Monarch Review' Publishes New Short Story entitled 'Oils'

Yay, I'm happy about this! Even though I know the editor over there probably wanted to strangle me, we were able to work through my super-verbose-crazy-simile-filled-flowery-fuck-being-parsimonious-stylist issues and publish this short story (which reminds me that I want to do a post about the tumultuous dynamic that exists between writer and editor). So, here is the first bit. Click on the link to read more. And don't worry she clocks in at less than 2,000 words! ^__^

Oils
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No morning romp, no private onanism; no shared breakfast, no quick snack; no pot of coffee, no shot of espresso: the two hours or so before dawn had to be used for work, had to be used solely for painting.

Sevek awoke because of despair. But he awoke quietly, disturbing neither Pranaya nor the child sleeping bodkin between her parents. His wife and daughter knew nothing of his desperation. They only had a vague sense of his plight, understood that he wanted to paint, but did not know the ultimate reason why.

Pranaya’s head lay unpillowed. She was as supine to her husband’s plight as she was to the world beyond their mattress.

Sevek’s daughter, lying flesh against her mother’s umber midriff, seemed lifeless to him. Both the females looked dead in their sleep.

The painter rolled away from his family towards the uncurtained window. The city glow of downtown Dallas murmured into the bedroom, enough to allow Sevek to read the unadorned timepiece at the other end of their bedroom. He had some time yet ere dawn.... [read more]