Bad Blogger ... Good Writer?

So I have been a bad blogger lately, but not for the usual reasons. I have been so busy with school and under-the-table-arson-for-hire business that I have neglected to tell you that I have been getting some stuff published lately. That is especially bad blogging on my part because the reason this website ostensibly exists is to be an online presence for my writing. Believe it or not, I do write more than drunken rants. And occasionally people even publish them!

So far this year I have had three pieces of short fiction placed!

Here are links to the journals:

The Bicycle Review

Black Heart Magazine

Cease, Cows

I also had two other pieces accented to the college literary journal.

It had been awhile since I’ve had anything published out there in the world, but then it had been awhile since I had sent anything out. Back in January I gathered put (almost) everything I had just sitting around and submitted it out to. It was about twenty pieces of short fiction, a couple one-act plays, and maybe a half dozen half-way passable poems. So far I have had about six pieces rejected and three accepted. Believe it or not but that means that this has been an extraordinarily successful exercise.

Anyway, I'm very fancy. As I have always told you.

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Pictures of Places.

Violet has up some of the pictures from our trip to Boston and greater New England.

Here is a very long exposure of nighttime Boston as seen from our hotel near the Commons.



Here is a shot from inside the actually awe-some Trinity Church. This is actually a must-see-before-you-die kind of place. I was amazed by it, and I have been to Big Ben (boring!) and The Empire State Building (boring!) and the St. Louis Arch (boring!) and the Eiffel Tower in Paris (snore!) and the Eiffel Tower in Las Vegas (kind of awesome actually) and I have seen the world’s largest banjo and the world’s largest free-standing Taco Bell. My point is, if you have the chance, visit this place.



And below is a photo of your humble author, doing some small bit of writing in the Boston Public Library.



Check out these and more on Violet's Flickr.
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New (VERY) Short Story

Here is a very short story that I wrote today on my lunch break. I think it is fun and fluffy!




ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS
By James Bezerra

If all the world really is a stage then my prop master is totally going to lose his job because I can never find my keys.

This time they are in the fish tank. I grab them and shake off the water as I dash DownStageLeft and my apartment slides off on casters. Stagehands all in black push my car across to StageRight as the scenery goes flying by.

The library is lowered in on thick steel cables as I hop out of the car, which the stagehands drag off. I rush up the steps of the library; they look like granite but they are really just knotty wood wrapped in muslin.

As I fling open the doors, the library swivels around so you can see the interior: rows of books and a center aisle that widens toward DownStage so as to create a more pleasant sightline and to imply size and grandeur.

I dash into one of the rows. You can’t see me anymore but you can see the books that I am hurling out into the aisle. I’m looking for one book. Just one book. One play. This play. My play. The play that you are watching right now. Why is it so hard to find just one specific thing in a library?

You see more of the books that I am hurling.

I need to know how this ends, because if there is a gun in the first act, then it has to go off in the last one and while there was no gun, there was a misplaced newspaper. The prop master left out tomorrow’s paper for me during the first act and I started reading it while I was drinking my coffee and having a bagel and then whatallthefuckalltohell! there was a blurb about my tragic death and I nearly choked right then on my bagel.

“Killed by a meteorite!” I exclaimed and then started looking for my keys.
I find the book! The play! This play! I step back out into the aisle and over the pile of books and DownStage toward the footlights and I read out loud . . .

“JAMAL (Moves DS and reads out loud): Suddenly there is a rumbling …”

But then suddenly there is a rumbling. Then the lights go all bright orange and as I look up toward the balconies, I can see it there, out over the audience, descending fast toward me on a cable, like the chandelier in Phantom of the Opera: a giant Styrofoam and paper mache meteorite! Barreling down toward me at galactic speed!

I don’t even have time to leap out of the way. I only have time to look down at the play in my hands and I see that it says: THE END.
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