Tag: podcast

The Unloved Elephant

I have 14 videos on YouTube. 14 stories read aloud. Some stories have had more views than others. Inexplicably, the story with the least views is one that was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. It’s a lovely story. Could you show a little love to “Gift of the Elephant”? Give it a listen? I would appreciate it.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTSc2BtbBk8 Remember:...

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A Snail Went to Carlos Fuentes Funeral

Sometimes I get so frustrated by the pace of my writing career, I Google the titles of my novels to see if something is going on with them that I don’t know about. This is an insane activity, as the novels haven’t been published. The only place they exist—other than a mention or two in contests I’ve placed in over the years—are...

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A Last Moment of Intimacy

This is the last week of the rollout. Look back: the first story launched on June 26 (of this year, as my friend from writing group would clarify.) We sustained a hiatus when my daddy died, then resumed with vigor. When the current week is done, we will enter PHASE II. The collection will be made available in full on other host sites. The work...

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Recording Your Fiction: A New Approach

Everyone’s talking about e-book or print, self-publishing or traditional. I want to talk about something different. Following the advice of my favorite fortune cookie ever—try a different way or new approach—today, I’m beginning a conversation about a different approach: audio. That is, recording your work and making it available to listeners...

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Why Abandon the Book?

I am a child of the book. No more than five books from the children’s section of the library—what’s to be done? Not enough money to buy more than one book from the Book Mobile, thank God for Little Bear gifts from loving aunts. Summers spent in air-conditioned rooms lazing on beds, reading one Faulkner after another Welty after another,...

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How Can You Write a Short Story Making Fun of Old People in a Retirement Home?

Mother should be grateful for an attentive son, but she’s glowering at me, her pug nose crinkled as if I’ve spilled sticky pickle juice on her kitchen counter. Mother no longer owns a kitchen counter, and I no longer am a child with clumsy mitts attempting to fix a pickle and cheese sandwich. Mother now lives in this lovely retirement home where...

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