Tyranus Posted June 15, 2009 Share Posted June 15, 2009 I just received word that my third submission WILL be published online! It will appear under the title "NO PLACE LIKE IT". When I get a link to the page I'll post it up. The page should go live apprximately June 16th. Here's a copy of the email text I received from the site: Dear river writers, Once again, we had an abundance of submissions to choose from. Our reading committee had to reread the entries several times before their final decisions were made. Thank you all for submitting. To accommodate the large number of fiction and poetry selected, we will not have a featured writer for this issue. And, unfortunately, we had to reject some of you. We hope this doesn't discourage you and that you will consider submitting work for Winter 2010. The theme for Winter 2010, issue 16 is "Here Comes the Sun." For riverbabble 15, we have selected the following: Fiction: Margot Comstock: Reno Renaissance Sara McAulay: Gift and Giver Kate LaDew: It Only Feels Like Waking Up Bev Vines-Haines: Picking Up the Pieces Patsy Covington: On the Road with Jonesy David Woodruff: Raccoon People Rick Spuler: Road Trippin' Thomas Kearnes: Across the Skin, Behind the Heart Andrew M. Lopas: Economy D. Ward Jones: No Place Like It Marjorie Carlson Davis: The Music in Him Poetry: Rafael Jesús González: "Green Tara Moon," "I Received the News Today," "No One." Francine Witte: "Road Signs," "Rescue." Anthony Pino: "This Old Road." Julene Weaver: "Airport Security." Charles Brooks III: "Road to the Coast." Luigi Monteferraante: "On the Road." Jason Everett: "Waking up in Central Gansu Province." Paul Lobo Portugés: "Sea to Shining Sea." Jesse Bradley: "Check Yes." Prose Poems/Flash Fiction: Doug Mathewson: For Phil, Tupelo Regressions Christine Swint: Dusk Andrew M. Lopaz: Blue And here is the piece: NO PLACE LIKE IT “I want to go home” was all she had whispered. He angrily turned around and came toward her as the racks of clothes and walls of the little Kansas consignment shop fell away, melting into the ethereal mists now engulfing her. Her head swam, and nausea swept over her as the hushed scream in her throat finally gave birth to actual sound, echoing off the brick walls of the nearby buildings. She felt faint as the fog slipped away, somehow leaving her alone on a dark and deserted street. Her back was pressed against the cold metal of a lamp post, and the sound of distant lumbering locomotive cars accompanied the subtle vibrations her feet felt in the ground beneath. Her feet. She quickly slipped off the red shoes as if they had bitten her. She remembered that he had stopped for a break from the road; from the endless driving and running in the little town of Cherokee, Kansas. Images of her morning began to align themselves in her head. She recalled he had taken her into the consignment shop to find some cheap, used clothing and shoes that wouldn’t match her last description. Yes. She remembered now. She had been trying desperately to be noticed by someone, anyone, without alerting or angering him. She had been looking at clothing and trying on a pair of shoes . . . beautiful red slippers that glittered like rubies in the dim light of the shop. Surprisingly, they had fit so wonderfully. As she looked at herself in the mirror, the heels inadvertently clicked together as she turned to the right, then again as she turned back to the left, and a final time as she moved back to center to see them from the back. It was then that she had uttered the whisper, “I want to go home” and he had turned toward her. But where was she now? Reaching back to steady herself on the lamp post, her hand came to rest on a flyer. She turned for a look. It was one of those washed out, photocopied flyers of a missing child made by a frantic family. She looked closer at the paper, realizing it was her face. She sank to the ground, exhausted and paranoid, looking over her shoulder and down the street, in every doorway, every shadow for him. She drew her knees up to her chest and gathered the shoes up in her arms, happening to notice a worn name label inside the heel of one. It read, D. Gale. It was at that moment that a slow-cruising police car turned the corner, its floodlight cutting across her. It quickly pulled to the curb alongside her, and the officers stepped out to help. As the shaking girl caught sight of the name of the city on the car door, tears streamed down her face, and she clutched the ruby slippers close to her chest. She was safe. She was home. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Remo Posted June 16, 2009 Share Posted June 16, 2009 Congrats. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted June 17, 2009 Author Share Posted June 17, 2009 Thanks Remo! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
theGreatSot Posted June 19, 2009 Share Posted June 19, 2009 Too cool Ward! Congratulations! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted June 22, 2009 Author Share Posted June 22, 2009 Thanks guys! Here's the link to the newly-posted page: http://iceflow.com/riverbabble/Welcome.html It's an on-line fiction magazine published by Pandemonium Press. It goes up twice a year, at the Summer Solstice (overnight between the 20th and 21st of June) and again for the Equinox in Winter. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Scootch Posted June 24, 2009 Share Posted June 24, 2009 Obviously they recognized the talent. Congrads bro! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Tyranus Posted July 11, 2009 Author Share Posted July 11, 2009 Thanks Scootch! Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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