Paris Attacks

Paris_Peace-Were you in Paris at the time of the attacks?


-Were you hurt?


-Were any of your friends or family members hurt?


-Did you witness any of the violent events first hand?


-Where were you when you first heard about the attacks?

-At home. I was having dinner with my husband.

-How did you learn about the attacks?

-A friend sent me a text message to ask whether I was okay. That’s when we checked the news on our phones.

-How did you feel when you saw the news?

-Baffled. Horrified. Powerless.

-You did not feel scared?


-Why not?

-I don’t know. I was at home behind locked doors. I live in another part of town. I have an exaggerated sense of self-safety.

-What did you do once you heard about the attacks?

-I checked up on friends who lived in the area where the shootings took place. I browsed social media networks for information. I thought about all the times I had been in the Bataclan in the past. I replied to concerned messages from others about my safety. I listened to the helicopters above my head.

-Did you sleep?

-We have Xanax.

-How did you feel the next day?

-Angry. Depressed. Haunted.

-What did you do?

-I checked where I could donate my blood and learned that there were so many people in line to donate their blood that authorities discouraged people from coming.

-What did you do next?

-I read the first few chapters of Houellebecq’s Submission. And I worried.

-About what?

-The social and political consequences of the attacks. The human capacity for evil. The hopelessness of the state of the world. The dangerous force of delusional ideas. The human talent for cruelty, selfishness, jealousy, hatred, blame, revenge, bad reasoning, xenophobia. The possible reoccurrence of similar attacks all over the world. Ignorance. The future of eduction. The weapon industry. The hidden powers of our own governments. War. The chance that some conspiracy theories are true. The unattainability of the truth. The impotence of all of us to ever change any of it.

-Do you still think Europe should accept as many Syrian refugees as we can?


-Do you think that some of these refugees are terrorists in disguise who at some point in the future might become a threat to the safety of European citizens?

-Every human being can at some point in the future become a threat to another human being.

-What’s going to happen next?

-“At this point, it’s hard to say what is, or isn’t, possible. Anyone who tells you otherwise is either a fool or a liar. I don’t think anyone has any idea what the next few weeks will bring.” (From Submission by Michel Houellebecq translated by Lorin Stein)

-Is there anything you’d like to add?

-Yes. My heart goes out to everyone who was a victim of the attacks or lost someone they loved.

Snails and Oysters

Hermeneutic Chaos published a flash story of mine that was later nominated for Best Small Fictions 2015.

Preview of “Snails and Oysters.”

She loves snails, their soft flavor of slowness. She loves drowning them in olive oil and swallowing them down with raw garlic, a shred of parsley. In between bites she indulges in sourdough bread toasted black. Flutes of chilled Chablis.

>> continue reading >>

The Hunter at the End of the Day

hobartSelf-confusion for Writers – Eight Steps

1. Write a story
2. Realize it’s erotica
3. Feel self-conscious, then submit it anyway
4. Get the story accepted by a really cool literary magazine
5. Have doubts and worry
6. See it published
7. Feel proud, then embarrassed
8. Tell yourself to get over it and promote the story anyway

Preview of “The Hunter at the End of the Day” published by Hobart.

I’m rambling through a dense forest, on the dark side of intimidating. None of the picnic-and-pine appeal the woods used to have in my youth. This territory is primitive and full of perils. Bats hunt in the early dusk.

>>  continue reading  >>

The World on Fire

Today in Crack the Spine a micro piece of mine was published.

Preview of “The World on Fire”

“No one died that day. At least not in my town. No one saw the light and was saved.”

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Back to Back

wordriotlogoThe always on the edge Word Riot published my short and intimate memoire “Back to Back” in their October issue.

Preview of “Back to Back”

Two girls, twelve, thirteen perhaps, are sitting back to back on the bedroom floor so as not to look each other in the eye. One has her knees drawn up, whereas the other keeps her legs stretched out in front of her. Their tailbones press hard against the cement underneath the carpet, a discomfort that suits the awkwardness of their exchange.

>> continue reading (or listen to an audio recording) >>

Her Face in the Glass

Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine published a story of mine in their upcoming issue (Vol. 8 No. 2). I’m so honored, ’cause look, I’m in the most excellent company:

Screen Shot 2015-10-08 at 14.37.41

An Interesting Case

Toasted Cheese Literary Journal accepted one of my flash fictions in their fall issue.

Preview of “An Interesting Case”

In the matter of doctors, I prefer the ones who are young. They’re still interested in your body. When you put your ailments on display, they act as though you’re handing them a scientific article stuffed with fascinating, mind-blowing facts.

 >> continue reading >>

A Ball is a Ball

Today in Minor Literature[s], a short piece of mine went up.

Preview of “A Ball is a Ball”

“When you feel it coming on, here’s what you do: imagine it as a ball. A football, or a tennis ball, whatever kind of ball you’re most familiar with, or whatever ball requires the use of the limb in which you have the most confidence.”

>> continue reading >>


In my dream, my husband is a woman. Not a beautiful woman with whom, despite my being straight, I can imagine myself in bed. He is a male-looking woman, resembling his reality male-self too much to attract me as someone from my own sex. In fact, I only know he is a woman because of the energy (s)he radiates and the curve of his/her chest.

Next, I find myself examining my own body, hoping, perhaps, I have changed gender as well, which isn’t the case.

My husband stands on stage and sings her heart out in a scene stolen from an early Lynch movie: dark bar-theater, red curtains, sparse audience. (S)he sings and sings, convincingly, and I am invaded by love, swept off my feet, in defiance of everything.

When I open my eyes and see my husband’s head, half-buried in the pillow, relaxed in sleep, I feel like the luckiest person in the world.