Eric Hoffer Award winners posted

It’s finally posted, so I can talk about it.  My short story, Knitting the Unraveled Sleeves has been selected for an Editor’s Choice Award in the Eric Hoffer Prose Award competition and will be included in the annual anthology of short prose, Best New Writing 2013.  The book will be available in early October.

Here is the link to the announcement:

And here is the link to order the book:

I’m particularly proud of the story and very happy to see it found a proper home.

A new poem up at Tulpendiebe on tumblr

Fascinated by the decadence of pre-war Germany, a frantic epoch frought with passions of social, political and artistic focus, I wrote this poem after watching several old German films.   The poem is posted at Tulpendiebe on tumblr, a site created by Jürgen Fauth, the co-founder of the writer’s site, Fictionaut.  He has also written a novel, titled “Kino.”  My poem, titled, “I see a sea of cinema faces, black and white, black and white, black and white” is my poor attempt to capture something of the decadence and the tone of the era.  You can read it at:

The tumblr site also has a link to Fauth’s book and in Tulpindiebe, you will find an odd, curious, fascinating collection of works, prose, poems, art, photos that are marvelously tuned to the epoch and to the period in which Fauth’s novel is placed.  It’s a fascinating period.

One of the most memorable film clips from any period is the beer garden scene from Cabaret.  I could describe it, but here’s the link.

If you haven’t seen it, you must see it for the full impact.  It condenses the chilling emotions of the time in a way that no words could describe.

My new short story, ‘Waiting for the Wolf’ is now available in Lost In Thought: Issue 2

This remarkable magazine, LOST IN THOUGHT, is published in Canada and is a stunning mix of visual art, poetry and fiction.  One of the finest magazines I’ve ever seen, I am proud to be included in the collection.  Each illustrated story and poem pairs a writer with either a photographer or an illustrator.  The result is singularly arresting and represents a new class of magazine, one that rivals any that you’ve seen before.  

Here is the link to preview and purchase the magazine:



More new stories – updates, ongoing projects and rumors

My story, The Rising, has been published in a special edition anthology of River Poets Journal.  You can access the .pdf file here:

Or, you can purchase a print copy here:



I’m also happy to say that my story, On the train to Otsu Station will be included in an upcoming charity anthology, New Sun Rising.  Proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to charities providing earthquake and tsunami relief in Japan. The anthology was sidetracked for a while, but is now in gear and I’ll post a link for purchase when it’s available.

In the meantime, here is a link to information on the ongoing effort to publish:

As for the rumors, I will have a poem published in Blue Fifth Review sometime in May and my story, Waiting for the Wolf will appear in print sometime soon in the Canadian journal, Lost in Thought.  In the meantime, I’m working on two novels, one of which should be finished in November of this year.

The Color of Mangoes

(Flash Fiction)

Once, in August, while visiting my brother’s grave in Tucson, I drove slowly up the roadway between the rows of plots, trying to remember exactly where he was buried.   The graveyard is a maze, but I knew there was a tree beside an adjacent road, a wide mesquite, big as an oak, whose skinny leaves provide a permissive mix of shade and sunlight, like a bamboo curtain or a green sieve.   I saw the tree and a woman who was kneeling at a grave in the shade of it.   When she saw me approach, she stood, walked quickly to her car, and began driving slowly away.

When I parked my car and walked over to my brother’s grave, I saw fresh flowers and wondered if she’d left them there.   I looked up.   The woman had stopped some distance away and was out of her car, staring back at me.   I watched for a long time and began to walk toward her, thinking to ask if she was the one who left the flowers and did she love my brother Carlos.   Did she know who he really was, and why he was even on the earth?   If she knew that, then maybe she could tell me why anybody is here, why I’m here.

I never reached her, though.   She turned, got back into her car and drove off.

My father later told me that once every year someone leaves flowers on Carlos’ grave on a certain day in August.   My parents do not know who it is, the exact day, or the meaning of it, nor have they ever seen anyone else at his graveside.   It is not his birthday, nor is it the anniversary of his death.   My father said whoever it was has not missed the day in over fifteen of the years since Carlos died.

It must have been the woman I saw.   She was tall and blond.   I remember she wore a summer dress the color of mangoes.

(Note:  You can hear this story read by Marcus Speh at this link.  He does a marvelous job with it.)  Here is the link: