Tonya Liburd's Blog, page 10
December 15, 2016
Snippet
Composing a new poem I got an idea for while walking to the Xmas party I’m at…
One verse for you, then:-
Child of dragon,
Child of fairy,
Child of almost every myth that you are told…
Save for those of my people,
Ancient where yours are merely old,
Left to wither and die out in the cold.
Let me in.
Filed under: Snippet, Writing
December 8, 2016
The Ace of Prose: Interview with Tonya Liburd
Gwendolyn Kiste has an interview with me up at her website!
Find it here.
Filed under: Writing Tagged: gwendolyn kiste, interview, the ace of prose, Tonya Liburd
December 6, 2016
Another acceptance announcement!
See my name in there…? (click for larger version)
Through Dreams She Moves”, my story longlisted for a Carter V Cooper (Vanderbilt) Short story award in 2015 has found the perfect home…!
Filed under: Writing
November 27, 2016
Adventures In Gaming – Super Monday Night Combat (SMNC)
#AdventuresinGaming
Just been told by a well-known gaming troll that “You make the game worse you dumb cunt”
Cause:-
The previous round I went assassin, spawned 2 “bouncer” bots (a gorilla that runs around and smashes you, plus some shooting android that thwaps you for some distance), used my smoke bomb to blind the super turrets and allowed them to get at odokee unharmed. The turrets woke back up and killed me.
Odokee died from the gorilla bot, however.
I laughed like a witch.
See, if I was younger or had more delicate sensibilities, or my self-esteem leaned on the game at all, or if I wasn’t a writer with things to do and things going on, his comment when waiting for a new group would have hurt and sent me to possible tears.
Obviously that didn’t happen.
Filed under: Gaming Tagged: #adventuresingaming, SMNC, Super Monday Night Combat
November 21, 2016
Snippet
(from my novel-in-progress.)
…and sometimes things just, you know… fall into your lap.
It was at my first Flaming Lips concert. And based on what I was experiencing, it wasn’t going to be my last concert.
I was standing near the area in front of the giant television display in Dundas Square; it was an area full of parked and locked bikes, sitting, standing, lounging people, balloons being passed back and forth and loads of camaraderie. I was enjoying the sight of the lead singer crowdsurfing inside a huge ball and was moving closer through the push of bodies to get a better view, and to record what I was seeing, when it happened. I lost my magical protection. I felt it more than saw it happen.
A mild vertigo slid through me.
It was like being in an accident, where everything was speeding up and slowing down at the same time. Things were going so slow that as I looked behind me I just managed to see a figure furtively disappearing into the throng of bodies oblivious to my plight.
Once he cleared the crowd, this person seemed to think that the deed was done, that there was no pursuit, but habits of carefulness seemed to dictate his mostly unhurried actions.
I watched him duck into doorways or alleyways whenever he saw a vehicle approaching, or another pedestrian.
Then in an alley, I saw him look around before approaching one doorway. He passed a hand over a part of the shadows, then seemed to step into them.
So that’s how he eluded people.
He was getting away with my jumbie beads.
No! That could not happen… I dashed forward, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him back into the night.
I grabbed him by the neck. His feet were off the ground.
I slammed him face first into a wall. I think his nose was worse for wear because of that. I breathed down the back of his head.
“Hello there.” I let my voice express its full monstrosity.
His heart raced, from what I could detect. I smelled fear.
“I do believe you have something of mine.”
I could hear him begin to hyperventilate.
“No answer, hm? I suggest you give it back.”
He began to stammer.
“Speak up. Words, boy, words.” I shook him by my grip around his neck.
“I-i-it’s in my back pocket.”
“Ah.” I fished it out. “Thank you.” I let him unceremoniously drop to his feet as I put the jumbie beads back on.
A shiver spread throughout my body as the magic began to take hold. My head lolled back.
Then I eyed him.
Filed under: Snippet, Writing Tagged: novel, snippet, Tonya Liburd, writing
November 15, 2016
Short story acceptance announcement…!
I have an acceptance from Mary Anne Mohanraj’s “Survivor” anthology!
YAY!
EEE…!
(trips)
(falls down stairs)
(decapitates self)
Filed under: Writing Tagged: Mary anne mohanraj, survivor
November 14, 2016
November 6, 2016
Quoth
“If you can convince the lowest white man he’s better than the best colored man, he won’t notice you’re picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he’ll empty his pockets for you.”
— Lyndon Johnson
Filed under: Uncategorized
August 28, 2016
Snippet
From Novel #2 in progress, tentatively titled, “Heathens, Blood and Stone”
===
Mirror’s head tilted, and she leaned to the side.
The person was slouched down on the train seat, but the black sweatshirt was so non-forming that the resulting bagginess left the distinct impression of a curve deeply slouched onto the seat. The knees were no different; the bagginess of the jeans, this shade of navy, left no distinct impression of a knee, it was just part of the curve occurring at that region as well. In fact, there were no distinct impressions of body parts at all; not even a distinct shoulder, even though the person’s hooded head leaned on the pane bordering the train’s doorway. No hands, even, buried into the bagginess of the too-short pants- did they even come up to the guy’s waist?
“What are you doing?” Nancy asked.
“Trying to see if this guy’s made of bone.”
A snicker skipped out of Nancy. “He is kinda like a spaghetti trying to sit on a chair, isn’t he?”
“Can you see his face?” Mirror asked.
The front of a cap protruded from the sweatshirt’s hood, but that was all that could be seen.
Filed under: Snippet, Writing Tagged: heathens blood and stone, snippet, writing
July 22, 2016
I have three things published this July!
Newest fiction out: “Shoe Man” in the July issue of Expanded Horizons:- http://expandedhorizons.net/magazine/?page_id=3927 …
Microfiction! “Still Life” in Grievous Angel (Urban Fantasist):- http://buff.ly/29NNDAE
Poetry too! Cascadia Subduction Zone:- http://thecsz.com/
Enjoy!
Filed under: Writing Tagged: Authors of color, Black authors, Black Canadians, Canadian authors, Cascadia Subduction Zone, Characters of color, Contemplation, Expanded horizons, Grievous Angel, Shoe Man, Still Life, Tonya Liburd, Urban Fantasist, Women authors
