Best Microfiction 2023 is Almost Here!

Best Microfiction 2023 is almost here! My contributor’s copy arrived this week, and I’ve been poring over the gems in these pages, humbled to have a story among them.

Thank you once again to editors Meg Pokrass, Gary Fincke, and Deb Olin Unferth for choosing “Windows” to appear in this beautiful collection of literary short stories, and huge thanks to Fractured Lit for the nomination.

“These are small, arresting stories that cut right to the heart of the matter, demonstrating that a story well told, no matter how small, expands beyond the space it inhabits.”—Robert Scotellaro, Author of God in a Can and Ways to Read the World 


“Yes, this is how it is done. Beautiful, brooding, erotic, mysterious, idiosyncratic words shaped into thunderbolts, shocks that reveal what we didn’t know we know. Words filled with promise, bewildering and enchanting us. This is flash at its best, flash now.”—Jane Ciabattari, Columnist, BBC Culture, The Literary Hub 

The release date for Best Microfiction 2023 is July 10. You can preorder a copy here.

The Songs That Tell Our Stories

Photo by Abigail Naranjo

We often describe writing as a lonely endeavor, a creative process best engaged in alone. But even in our most solitary moments, there are those we bring with us. They are the fellow storytellers whose work feels symbiotic to our own, whether it inspired us beforehand or because we discovered it at the same time, so that within their works of art we see our own story’s reflection. These companion creations come in many forms—in novels, in movies, in poetry. 

And in songs. 

I’ve written before about the sublime nature of music and how it can transcend a seemingly impassable distance, connecting us to what we need most. In childhood, when we are alone in our rooms and a tangle of confusion, we find the songs that speak for us, that seem to know us before we even know ourselves. As we grow older, if we’re lucky, we hold on to that old sense of magic yet rediscover it through new songs.

For me, the music that captured so much of my childhood—from the melodic cadences of Iron Maiden to the dark poetry of Ronnie James Dio—threads to the music I’ve connected with most as an adult, especially in the form of doom metal. If my own writing were a music genre, it would surely be this one: sparse, languid, and melancholy. In these songs so much of the story is told in the spaces between words, those haunting riffs and plaintive melodies that carry the listener along, in the way I strive to tell my stories through atmosphere and in the meaning of things left unsaid. 

One of my favorite doom metal bands, Khemmis, blend the best of the genre with traditional heavy metal—a perfect mix. Their 2016 album, Hunted, came at a time when I, like many others, found myself blindsided by a world that had broken open to reveal such depths of vulgarity and hatred that I necessarily retreated from it. Hunted was there for me when I desperately needed to surround myself with something beautiful. 

A few years later Khemmis released another album, Desolation, and once again gifted music that came at the perfect time. Songs like “Isolation” and “Flesh to Nothing” helped me through an unplanned period of reinvention, and when I became willfully lost writing The House on Linden Way, I brought the song “From Ruin” with me—a stunningly beautiful song so inextricably woven in the writing of that manuscript that it feels like part of my own story now. 

Recently, my daughter and I had a chance to see Khemmis in concert. Days before the show she suggested we upgrade to the VIP package for a chance to meet the guys in person. I balked at first; the concert was on a school night, and having to teach the next day would be hard enough without making the night even longer. But then the idea took hold. I changed my mind. 

It’s not often you get to meet, face to face, those storytellers whose works you’ve lived with for so long and connected with so deeply. I wondered what I should say. I wondered if I was being a little selfish showing up for a meet and greet and saying anything at all to performers who already give everything on stage.  

And yet, as a writer, I know what a rare and wonderful surprise it is when someone reaches out personally to tell you how much a piece resonated with them. Khemmis are a young band whose momentum was frustratingly stalled by the pandemic; they’ve worked hard to stay connected to their art and to their audience, and they need to know how much they mean to their fans.

So I’m glad I decided to meet the guys. They are kind, funny, incredibly sweet, and just so talented. It felt pretty special being able to shake their hands and tell them what their music has meant to me over the years. Another reminder that, as writers who choose to send our stories out into the world, we are never truly alone. 

Shaking hands with bassist David Small (photo credit: Abigail Naranjo)

Just casually chatting with some of my favorite songwriters (!!!) (photo credit: Abigail Naranjo)

A very metal photo (photo credit: Abigail Naranjo)

Waiting for the show to begin (photo credit: Abigail Naranjo, obviously :))

Twin guitar harmonies, a thing of beauty (photo credit: Abigail Naranjo)

Ben Hutcherson. That is all. (photo credit: Abigail Naranjo)

First Acceptance of 2023!

Image by Brett Hondow from Pixabay

One of my goals for 2023 was to publish something new in a literary magazine, so I’m delighted to announce that 5 Minute Lit has accepted my piece “Wrapping Paper” for publication in August!

“Wrapping Paper” is part of a longer project I’ve held close to my heart for some time. I began steady work on the project last fall in my Mothers Who Write workshop, and I hope to share more about it soon.

For now, however, I’ll just be over here celebrating my first acceptance of 2023 (and looking forward to a long-awaited, writing-filled summer)!

A New Adventure in Teaching

The other day at work I was making copies when my principal asked if she could jump in. I said sure, and she joked about not having her own copy code after three years at the school. Four must be the magic number then, I replied, because I’d only received mine this year. And that’s when it hit me—I’ve been there four years.

The period between 2019 and now will never not feel like a time warp; I’m convinced an entire year disappeared there somewhere. And yet the summer I began my job as a preschool aide feels like another lifetime. I loved that job dearly; I knew within months I wanted to become a teacher and swiftly enrolled in a post-baccalaureate program. 

During my studies, I remained working at the small neighborhood elementary school that felt so much like home. When a teaching position opened last year (in preschool!) I was thrilled to take it on and come full circle. But throughout it all I’d always felt a pull toward middle school as well. 

Choosing which route to follow had initially been a struggle for me—teaching pre-literacy and foundational skills to our smallest learners, or teaching English language arts to preteens? Yet part of the beauty of teaching is that you don’t really have to choose beyond a year or two, and I think I always knew I’d end up trying both. 

So in January, with my principal’s blessing, I applied for an in-district transfer, and I’m happy to say I got the job! Next year I’ll be teaching English at the same middle school my children attended. I’ll miss the easy affection and innocent joy of my preschoolers, but I’m looking forward to the wild energy of 6th grade.

Now, off to plan my novel studies…

“Windows” is Selected for Best Microfiction 2023!

I am thrilled to announce that my short story “Windows” has been selected for Best Microfiction 2023!

“Windows” appeared in Fractured Lit last March and went on to earn a nomination in December. Here’s the story again, in case you missed it.

This comes at a perfect time for me because I am three chapters away from wrapping up my cozy mystery series, and while it’s been a blast writing commercial fiction, I’m ready to return to more literary writing, especially short-form literature. Having one of my micros honored is wonderful inspiration.

Here’s a list of all the stories selected for the anthology, which will be available for purchase in July.

2022 Highlights and 2023 Goals

Image by Speedy McVroom from Pixabay

A few days after Christmas I was bundled up in the family room on a quiet, cloudy morning, listening to the rain. I’d been working through some plot issues in my latest murder mystery and there was a scattering of Post-it notes on my lap. After an hour or so of scribbling plot points and sticking them onto a tri-fold poster board in an effort to see the bigger picture, I brushed them aside to work on a blog post. It’s my favorite time of the year to do so, the time I get to look back, and then look ahead. 

2022 was a long period of adjustment for me. I began my career as a classroom teacher and learned new ways to write, in necessarily smaller slices of time. Like every year, I felt I didn’t do enough, until I paged through my journals and wrote down my accomplishments on one single sheet of paper. The bigger picture, once you can see it clearly, always tells a different story. Here are some highlights of my year and a few goals for 2023:

2022 Highlights

I published the book of my heart, fulfilling a promise I’d made in January to release The House on Linden Way in print and ebook by July. Later in the summer I took Linden Way on a virtual tour that included several interviews, articles, and this essay, which I’m quite proud of. 

I had two micro pieces, “Windows” and “Then,” published in Fractured Lit and Five Minute Lit, respectively. “Windows” would go on to earn a nomination for Best Microfiction award, while one of my 2021 publications, “Transient,” was nominated by Reservoir Road for a Best American Essay.

My beloved fall writing workshop, Mothers Who Write, returned in person for the first time since 2019. I wrote six new pieces, all part of a larger project I’ll talk more about soon.

When yet another online lit mag shut down, taking several of my pieces with it, I followed through with a goal to record readings of my orphaned essays and post them to YouTube. 

I celebrated ten consecutive years as a published writer and finally (finally!) updated my website with new author photos.  

I (barely!) completed my Goodreads Reading Challenge and read 52 books. More on that below.

2023 Goals

I don’t often publicly declare writing goals, as I’ve found that keeping my projects to myself helps me to finish drafting them. Other goals for 2023 include: 

Self-publishing my short story collection, What Was Never There. I’m so excited for this! What Was Never There is my second book, which I began in 2015. It includes several previously published stories as well as unpublished stories, and just WAIT until you see the gorgeous cover!

Publishing at least one piece in a literary mag. Traditional book publishing is no longer a goal of mine, but traditionally publishing my short work is still important to me; the online lit mag community remains interesting, supportive, joyful, and creative, and I hope to stay part of it. 

Reading 30 books. For the first time since joining the Goodreads Reading Challenge in 2014, I am adjusting my goal. I’ve always set it at 52, and that was fine for all the years I worked part-time, but now that I’m a teacher I find myself avoiding books longer than 300 pages just to keep up. That’s silly, of course, so for 2023 I’ll shoot for an average of two books per month rather than four. 

Speaking of which, it is now New Year’s Day, and once again I find myself bundled up on a rainy day—perfect for reading. Time to get started on that Goodreads challenge! Happy 2023, everyone.

The End of the Tour; The Start of Something New

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

Whew! After a busy six weeks of guest posts, interviews, and giveaways, the Linden Way blog tour has come to an end. Here are the posts from the last two weeks, in case you missed them:

In an interview over at Literary Quicksand, I discuss my writing routine, how long it took to write The House on Linden Way, and one thing I’m afraid of that other people probably wouldn’t find very scary…

Author Anthony Avina kindly reviewed The House on Linden Way, writing “the combination of the horror/metaphysical aspect of the haunting story with the heartfelt and compelling character development made this a breathtaking novel.”

Avina also offered me a guest spot on his blog, where I wrote about the art of brevity and writing the novella.

Other reviews include this one by Wildwood Reads, describing Linden Way as a “unique ghost story that took off from the very beginning”; and this one by The Frugalista Mom, who called the plot captivating and wrote “Amber’s struggle between holding on to her childhood memories and living in the real world was very much relatable.”

Thank you again to everyone who helped make the tour a success!

And now it’s time to curl up in a quiet corner and wrap myself in a warm blanket and a new story. If you listen closely you may hear the sound of a pencil slowly whispering across a page, but that’s all you’ll hear from me for a while.

Until then, Happy Halloween, everyone! May your holiday be filled with laughter, love, and lots of treats.

Linden Way Blog Tour: Reviews, Guest Posts, and My Personal Highlight (So Far!)

Image by DreamPixer from Pixabay

Weeks three and four of the Linden Way blog tour included a review by Jess over at Literary Quicksand that has been the tour highlight for me.

Jess teaches middle school language arts, and she included an anecdote about a reluctant reader that nearly moved me to tears. Any time in the future I’m feeling low about writing and wondering if it’s all worth it, I’m just going to pull up this one review and remember I made a difference to this one teen.

Here are some other reviews from the last few weeks:

Sue Bradford Edwards at One Writer’s Journey reviewed Linden Way, calling it an unnerving story that “has that old school horror vibe.”

Nicole Pyles at World of My Imagination offers her own thoughts on Linden Way, describing Amber as a rich and complex character: “I loved the pushes and pulls of memories that feel so achingly real to her but impossible to change.”

Chris at GirlZombieAuthors had mixed feelings about Linden Way, but enjoyed the family relationships, which she posted about in an honest review: “The best relationship here is Amber’s interactions and remembrances with her brother.”

And Judy at Knotty Needle Creative admits to being spooked by Linden Way, but ended up enjoying this “rollercoaster of a read.”

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed The House on Linden Way!

Posts penned by me include 5 Tips for Getting Unstuck When Writing Your Novel, and a little essay that captures the heart of Linden Way called The Lingering Ghosts of Our Childhood Homes.

Finally, enjoy this fun interview with Linda at Boots, Shoes, and Fashion, where I answer questions like what inspired me to write, which character in Linden Way was the hardest to write, and most importantly: boots or shoes?

The Lingering Ghosts of Our Childhood Homes

Image by alberto15886 from Pixabay

(This piece was meant to be a guest post for the Linden Way blog tour, but due to some technical issues with the host’s site, I’m posting it here instead.)

My childhood home wasn’t mine for long. If a house has memories, I am the ghost of one—there and gone, like smoke. But my own memories are like ghosts themselves, the kind that linger, the kind that follow you in and out of dreams. 

We lived in that one-story red-brick home from the time I was nine until I was thirteen. That’s it—five years, and yet they seem to encompass my whole childhood. Bookending those years were stretches of poverty—subsidized housing, postage stamp apartments—as my mother, a Panamanian emigrant, struggled to support her children on a waitress’s income. It was her brief second marriage that lifted us temporarily into the middle class, where we were able to afford our own home, on a street called Linden Way.

That home, with its basement bedrooms and red shag carpet, is clearer to me than any of the places I lived in during my teens or twenties. If I close my eyes and really try, I can remember them, but they mean nothing—they were simply places, walls and carpet, kitchens and bedrooms, a balcony or maybe a porch. Until I purchased the house where I would raise my children, decades later, the house on Linden Way was the only place I’d ever considered a home.

I remember slumber parties in the basement, digging for worms in the backyard, lying on my bed and listening to records for entire afternoons. I remember my stepdad splitting wood for the fireplace, my brother playing his guitar in the room next to mine, my best friend tapping on my window and slipping through in the middle of the night. 

But I have no memory of leaving. 

My last memory is of my stepdad sitting at the kitchen table explaining to me that he was moving out. The next thing I remember is living with my mother in a two-bedroom second-floor apartment a few streets over. It was fine, I was fine. I could still walk to my best friend’s house in eight minutes flat, I could still hang out at the elementary school in the evenings, swinging or playing on the bars. 

I could also walk by my old house. The one that no longer belonged to me. And when I turned sixteen, after my mom and I moved to a rental on the other side of town, I could drive back to the house on Linden Way. Park across the street and just sit awhile. 

Eventually I moved away from my hometown, and in the thirty years since I’ve returned only once, when my daughter was three. I stopped by the house. I asked the owner to take a picture of my daughter and I standing in front of it. 

Many years later this moment would become the opening scene of a book, one where childhood homes have unworldly power and memories are living things. In the pages of this book I wrote tributes to the house on Linden Way, a place that I would go back to if I could, but only for a little while. I wrote tributes to the basement bedrooms and red shag carpet, to the marvel and myth of memory, to the lingering ghosts of our childhood homes. 

On the Benefits of Self-Publishing and the Thrill of a Good October Story

Image by Benjamin Balazs from Pixabay

I’d originally envisioned my blog tour for The House on Linden Way to take place in July. That was the month I’d promised to release the book in print, and it made sense to promote it right after publication and throughout the summer.

That didn’t quite work out. By the time I was ready to book the tour, the earliest dates Women on Writing had available were in September and October. It took about five minutes after hearing this news to reconcile my vision: of course autumn was the perfect time to promote a haunted house story! It was clearly meant to be.

Now in its second week, the blog tour has been a total blast, and I’ve enjoyed putting together the guest posts (and having extra time to write them).

Here are the links for my recent tour stops:

On Tuesday, I stopped by Mindy McGinnis’s blog to talk about the differences between traditional publishing and self-publishing (and which path I prefer).

On Friday, I was over at The Faerie Review discussing the chilling comfort of October stories and offering up a few of my personal favorites.

And today I was treated to a surprise review by my incredibly dedicated and hard-working tour manager, Crystal. Thanks, Crystal! You’re the sweetest. 🙂

Next week I’ll share a few more reviews, an interview, and a guest post called “The Lingering Ghosts of Our Childhood Homes.” See you then!