On Heath McLaughlin

In him I found a quiet attentiveness. Within a group setting, he was the one with his head cocked to the side, paying attention to everyone. An observational creature myself, I recognized him as one of my own, though of a different variety. He had a way of ascertaining a situation—listening, discussing, considering—then placing himself where he concluded himself needed most. A steady, rhythmic beat, one to count upon.

No need to give him direction—he knew what he was doing.

He spoke up fearlessly to challenge foolish orders, protecting those in his care with his voice. Both his dissent and his agreement had merit, because he made sure his opinion was not only heard, but worth hearing. However, if you were proud enough to ignore his input, he didn’t take it personally. He would just adjust his position to catch you if you fell.

On Samantha Sader

The sunshine loved her cheeks.

Imagine a wildflower planted right next to a busy sidewalk—face toward the sun, conversing with bees, colorful petals waving to passersby. That flower was her. A pedestrian’s day was made just a little brighter for having seen her; folks often left her presence wearing a fresh smile.

I happened to meet her on my way past her plot of earth on a foggy night, when everyone else had gone to bed. The busy sidewalk was empty of all but me and it was difficult to find my way. It should have been impossible to see her in the fuzzy dark like that, but a faint glow emanated from her fragile stem, casting glimmering light in a small sphere all around her.

I had never seen a night flower like her in all my travels.

There I paused a moment to appreciate this delightful display. She had a bit of daylight within her, I realized, borrowed from the sun and stored up for when gloom encroached. Though it had almost gotten me lost, I had to feel grateful to the confusing fog. Without it, I would’ve missed the chance to see a flower like her shine.

On Katie Byrne

Crackling energy bit the air at her approach and it was hard to miss her entrance. She had a way of striding into a room, as if into a castle under siege, she here to vanquish the enemy’s champion fighter. For armor, she wore a dark smile and snapping eyes, her sword the lightning dancing on her lips. Her battle cry was a dragon’s roar and her mighty footsteps shook the earth. Come to fight her prepared or don’t come at all. For when you clash with her, you’ll find yourself cut down with one snarky comment, bleeding out on the floor as she saunters past you in search of a worthier foe.

Road Kill Update: Release Date

An update on the Roadkill anthology publication

I talked in a previous post about how my short-story submission was accepted to be published later this year in Volume 2 of the Road Kill: Texas Horror by Texas Writers anthology. Last night, as I was falling asleep, dreaming big dreams about the trip to the San Japan convention today, I got an email from E. R. Bills with two things:

The cover image for Road Kill: Texas Horror by Texas Writers Vol. 2

RK2_FRONT_COVER
Road Kill: Texas Horror by Texas Writers Vol. 2, edited by E. R. Bills and Bret McCormick

(P.S. I love it.)

The release date: October 21 

There’ll be a launch party at Fleur Fine Books in Port Neches on Oct. 21, featuring the editors E. R. Bills and Bret McCormick as well as many of the as-of-yet unannounced contributors to the anthology. Since Port Neches is over 600 miles from the Texas Panhandle, I likely won’t be attending myself. Still, if you can make it, you should.

Flier for the Road Kill launch event at Fleur Fine Books in Port Neches, TX

(P.S. The picture with the ground cracks refers to my story “Thirsty Ground.”)

If you miss this one or if it’s too far away, there’s a second confirmed signing event at Book People on Oct. 29 in Austin, TX.

Flier for the Road Kill signing event at Book People in Austin, TX

I still won’t make it to this one either. But if you want to see me — and pick up a copy of Road Kill featuring my short-story “Thirsty Ground” — there may be an event in Amarillo soon. To be announced.

I’ll also update when I have more information on where to purchase the book after its release.

On Mariah Hendon

Some described her as ‘bright’ and ‘bubbly,’ and I supposed she was, most of the time. I happened to know she had a flickering blue flame trapped in a corked glass bottle, one small enough for her to hang from a delicate chain, which she wore around her neck, hiding the whole ensemble beneath her shirt.

Some described her as ‘bright’ and ‘bubbly,’ and I supposed she was, most of the time. I happened to know she had a flickering blue flame trapped in a corked glass bottle, one small enough for her to hang from a delicate chain, which she wore around her neck, hiding the whole ensemble beneath her shirt.

To my eyes, the little flame glowed right through the fabric. Sometimes, I couldn’t tell if she wore it or if it smoldered inside her rib cage, where her heart ought to be. If she caught me looking at the fire, she would hold her finger to her lips. “Shh…”

One day, when we were alone, she slipped the bottle from beneath her shirt and held it out on her upturned palm. She wore a fierce expression that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with proving the world wrong.

She uncorked the bottle and poured the fire out onto the ground, like hot, molten liquid. It caught on the dead grass and roared upward in a shower of golden sparks. In a blink, it was higher than our heads, hungry red, devouring everything.

I tasted the smoke of burned up dreams on the back of my tongue. “What is it?” I asked.

She placed dark sunglasses over her eyes in one smooth motion, the better to watch. The lenses reflected twin dancing suns back at me. She smiled and said, “Passion.”

As the fire ate the forest around us, I put my hands out toward the heat. “Passion,” I agreed.

On Joshua Kyle Watson

In a quiet back way, I met a colorful alley cat. Or, I should say, I stumbled right over him. He’d been basking in the sun in plain sight, minding his own business. Yet I, in my absentmindedness, hadn’t even seen him.

In a quiet back way, I met a colorful alley cat. Or, I should say, I stumbled right over him. He’d been basking in the sun in plain sight, minding his own business. Yet I, in my absentmindedness, hadn’t even seen him.

But then it was me sprawled on the cobblestones, surprised to be there on the ground, and him looking sidelong at me, still in his posture of relaxation but equally surprised at my bumbling arrival.

I’d expected him to run off then, as you well know cats do when they meet the toe end of your clumsy feet. Instead, he just curled his tail closer to himself and shut his eyes in apparent bliss. It seemed the warmth of his chosen sunbeam held more appeal than acknowledging my slight against him.

When I shifted to be on my way, I too found myself loathe to go. I wondered if he was a magic cat who made those near him feel content. Or maybe we were both just caught in the thrall of a lazy afternoon. Either way, I stopped there in my journey for a while and sat against the wall next to him. Until the sun had shifted down behind the buildings, we listened to the buzzing hubbub of those passing the alley who were too busy to pause and enjoy a little sunshine.

On Steven Watson

He was a steadfast guardian of all he held dear. An appraising look at the approach of a challenger. A dismissive smirk if he found you wanting; a quiet laugh when you measured up. If you didn’t get distracted by the long eyelashes, you found he had clever eyes, the sort that could pierce you down to the depths of your soul. I daresay I made it a point not to test him too often.

He was a steadfast guardian of all he held dear. An appraising look at the approach of a challenger. A dismissive smirk if he found you wanting; a quiet laugh when you measured up. If you didn’t get distracted by the long eyelashes, you found he had clever eyes, the sort that could pierce you down to the depths of your soul. I daresay I made it a point not to test him too often.

A warning: find your place with him.

For me, though, he was a warm, murmured greeting to anyone who walked in the room. Assuaged anxiety. Unless you pulled some truly heinous trick, it was impossible not to feel welcome in his presence. If he counted you among his friends, God help any of your enemies who came looking for trouble.