shanmonster | Entries tagged with writing

In 2020/2021, I was one of the writers abused by the person masquerading as Carrie Jade Williams. She was extremely manipulative. She told me I was shortlisted for a major bursary and was likely to receive an office makeover, including a new desk and chair, and a better computer. Based on her assertions I would definitely be getting funding, I did not apply for other educational opportunities which actually were legitimate.

I sent her several pieces of my writing which were to have been workshopped by professional editors, and when I asked her the status, she did not answer. When I went to the forums set up for us writers to ask if anyone knew what was going on, she sent me accusatory messages saying I was not respecting people's privacy and was endangering them. Though I had done nothing of the sort, the accusations triggered past trauma and gave me panic attacks and put me in a terrible paralyzing anxiety spiral which lasted for weeks.

I never did find out what became of the writing I sent her, and that included several deeply personal pieces of memoir.

Finding this article today was both troubling and validating. I was not the only person she hurt. How many did she hurt? And is she still doing it now?

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In much better news, Bitter Become the Fields, a horror anthology I have been published in, has had its official release. You can get your copy here.

Normally I'm the one getting rejections. Lots and lots of them. But yesterday, I had to give one. I had the same story accepted by two separate magazines yesterday. I chose the one that pay pro rates and nominates for contests.

Someone automatically presumed I was cheating because many magazines do not accept simultaneous submissions. I did my due diligence. Both of these magazines do accept simultaneous submissions. I seriously hope the magazine I turned down doesn't hold this against me, because I followed their rules. I still feel bad, though.

In other writing-related news, I've been in a bit of a stall. My grandmother recently died in Nova Scotia (she was 98 years old), and I've been dealing with the long-distance grieving aftermath of that. As a result, my heart hasn't exactly been in my writing. I have, however, found myself able to do revision work, and find it therapeutic and meditative. It helps calm the anxiety wheels.

I have ideas for other stories, but for now, I'll polish things up and keep sending them out, and hopefully I won't get another publisher head-on collision.

Now I still have to create some promotional material for the launch of an anthology. I'm doing waaaaaaay more work than is compensated by money. I guess that's how the arts works, but dang, it does suck.

Back to the keyboard tomorrow morning for a generative workshop on Greek mythology. I always enjoy this sort of thing.

My play “A Time For Dolls,” a coming-of-age story with wickedly funny Inuit tales, has been published in Native Voices: A Literary Collection of Emerging Indigenous Writers. I think it’s on sale until the 15th of June, and then prices go up. It’s available on all of the Amazons, I think. It may be coming to other booksellers later this summer.

My poem "Exile of Nuliajuk" has been published in the Heredity issue of NonBinary Review. You can get a digital copy of the whole magazine for five bucks!

I recently did a workshop on writing violence in horror and had fun with one of the writing exercises. We were to choose a classic monster (I chose a vampire), and then write the same attack from three separate perspectives. I'll share my results with you. We were given 7 minutes to write each bit, so if stuff looks like it could use an editing, it's because it was written very quickly.

I used a crowbar to pry the plywood off the basement window and cut my hand open in the process. I dropped the crowbar and took off my shirt, wrapping it around my dripping hand. It hurt, but I had to get in there before the thing noticed. I edged myself past the broken glass, and just as my feet should have touched the floor, they were yanked out from under me. My head smashed into concrete and I saw nothing but scintillating spots of nothingness. I awoke in mid scream. Needles plunged into my thigh over and over again and I tried to struggle, tried to tear myself free, but only tore my skin further on those needles. Teeth, I realized in horror. They weren’t needles, but teeth.
Darcy took a prybar to the basement window, and with a few deft movements, the plywood came loose with the squeal of nails being pulled free. Darcy lifted the wood out of the way, gashing his hand open on a shard of glass. He swore under his breath and peeled off his shirt. He wrapped it around his hand before sliding in through the open window.

Something waited for him within. Something fast. It grabbed Darcy by the feet, smashing his head into the cement floor. It dragged Darcy further into the darkness before it began to feed.
Nails squeak and wood cracks, and then a shard of light slashes into my basement. I edge closer to the wall, away from the light, but close to whoever is breaking into my home. I can taste the fear rolling off him. Acrid sweat in his armpits, full notes of testosterone and adrenaline. I feel something awake in my belly. And then the sharp tang of blood as he slices his hand open on the window and my fangs drop.

He edges himself in through the window, and I seize this gift. I sweep him off his feet. Let the concrete kiss his head, and then I’m drinking from his femoral artery.

Which do you think works best?

My personal essay "Saddles in the Kitchen" has been published by Redivider. Here's the opening paragraph:

In the 1970s, my family lived all over New Brunswick before settling down deep in the Appalachian hills of the Acadian forest. Every summer, we journeyed to Newfoundland to visit Dad’s family. I have snippets of memories from my infancy and early childhood. I recall being a baby on a plane with a smoking section, hoisted up to look over the rails of an icebreaker ferry called the William Carson. It sank by the time I turned six. We drove through a place called Blow Me Down where Dad told me the Tabletop Mountains were flat on account of the fierce wind. I camped in a frigid tent on the Avalon Peninsula and peeked through the tent flap to watch a bull moose swim across a moonlit lake ringed by dark conifers. I saw icebergs float like white mountains off the coast of St. John’s. I witnessed herds of Newfoundland ponies running free, the last of a vanishing breed marking the end of an era. I remember being held in my Inuk grandfather’s arms in the passenger seat of a car while he pointed out a waterfall to me. It’s my only memory of him. He died when I was two.

Read the rest here.

I had a public reading at BookFest in Waterloo Square last weekend. I chose to read my as yet unpublished short story "Sirens Don't Swim Underwater."

Kyle was sweet and recorded it for me.

Watch on YouTube

I've begun some work on my next novella. I originally wanted it to be cosmic horror, but the more research I do, the more I think it might be eco-horror, because the ecological disasters of New Brunswick are way scarier than any Cthulhu-like deity. I guess I'll find out what happens. Perhaps it'll be a hybrid.

Huzzah! I just finished writing the first draft of my novella The Temperance Ridge Runaways. It is just shy of 27,000 words.

Next up, I must plot another novella for next month's horror novella course. I'm expected to write 5,000 words a week, and there's no way I have a chance of accomplishing that without an outline. I've never written fiction from an outline before. I'm a big-time pantser. Here's hoping it works for me.

The plan is to write a cosmic horror story, Indigenous-style. I haven't written much cosmic horror before (although there are elements of it in my novel The Everwhen). I'll be treading new ground on multiple fronts. Like the Runaways story, this will be set in the backwoods of New Brunswick in the early 1970s.

May started with a bang. One acceptance on May 1, and two more on May 2. A rejection on May 3, but on May 5, another acceptance. Four acceptances from four different places in less than a week? Wow. I'd better keep writing stuff.

I have a public reading later this month at BookFest in Waterloo Square. Family storytime is from 2-3:30, and then the grownup stuff happens from 3:45-8:00. I'm 13th on the grownup roster, so will likely be reading after 5. Come support Waterloo-region authors! There will be all sorts of vendors with their books.

In other news, June is either going to kill me or it will make me write even more than I've ever written before. I have been accepted into the Novel Immersive for LGBTQ Writers hosted by GrubStreet, and even got a scholarship to help defray the costs. I'll be working on whipping my novel The Everwhen into shape for publishing. That program runs for nine months and starts in June.

I am also doing a monthlong horror novella-writing course in June. I'm expected to write 5000 words/week. I've never been able to do that much writing on one project each week before. I hope I don't burn out! I will have to write an outline before I begin. I don't think I can pants this one. I think there may be one or two spots left in the class, if you're interested: The Authors Journey.

I recently appeared on Writers Delight, a radio programme showcasing writers local to the Waterloo Region. My bit is on at 21 minutes in, just after the song. I read my dystopian story "The Snow Hath No Queen." You can check it out here.

It was my first time in a radio booth in over twenty years. Hard to believe that I used to practically live at a radio station, ages ago. I miss radio, but I do not miss the politics of working at a radio station. That's what drove me out of the industry.

My memoir essay, "Saddles in the Kitchen," has been published in Redivider.

Here's the opening paragraph:

In the 1970s, my family lived all over New Brunswick before settling down deep in the Appalachian hills of the Acadian forest. Every summer, we journeyed to Newfoundland to visit Dad’s family. I have snippets of memories from my infancy and early childhood. I recall being a baby on a plane with a smoking section, hoisted up to look over the rails of an icebreaker ferry called the William Carson. It sank by the time I turned six. We drove through a place called Blow Me Down where Dad told me the Tabletop Mountains were flat on account of the fierce wind. I camped in a frigid tent on the Avalon Peninsula and peeked through the tent flap to watch a bull moose swim across a moonlit lake ringed by dark conifers. I saw icebergs float like white mountains off the coast of St. John’s. I witnessed herds of Newfoundland ponies running free, the last of a vanishing breed marking the end of an era. I remember being held in my Inuk grandfather’s arms in the passenger seat of a car while he pointed out a waterfall to me. It’s my only memory of him. He died when I was two.

More publishing news! I've sold two more stories: "Scarred" (about intergenerational war trauma) and "If You Listen" (a cautionary tale about colonization and Inuit cosmology).

I've also had a couple of poems published by Eavesdrop Magazine. You can even listen to me read them there. "Saved" (about how I got baptized before I was born) and "Wrassling's Object Lesson" (about my childhood favourite wrestler: The Cuban Assassin). Check out my dulcet tones.

I'm getting closer to the next step for revising my novel, "The Everwhen." I finished the first draft in January, and I've been letting it sit for a while so I can revisit it with a fresh brain. I think my first task is to go through the entire thing and write a chapter-by-chapter outline.

Every week I meet with a horror critique group, and we've been going through my novella about the runaway girls. I love how invested in the story the other folks are--I must be doing something right. I look forward to them reading the next bit. I get great feedback from them, and it helps me make my writing even stronger.

The Kickstarter for "Bitter Become the Fields," a horror anthology with a flora/fungi theme, is now live. My ghost story "The Last Trench" is one of the stories. It looks like an amazing collection and I hope you'll check it out!

My poem "This is the Time Just Before Spider Woman Meets Kiviuq" is available to read online at West Trestle Review.

I continue to work on my novella "The Temperance Ridge Runaways. Two little girls and their dog get lost in the back woods of the NB Appalachians in the 1970s, and bad things happen. It's a bit like Stephen King's "Stand By Me" by way of Alice Munro. I'm just shy of 20,000 words and still going strong. My alpha readers are in love with the characters and the story, and I am, too. I can't wait to find out what happens next.

My play "A Time for Dolls" will be published in the Native Voices Anthology this summer. My play is a coming of age story about a young Inuk and her mother. The collection is now available for pre-order.

A few weeks ago, I saw a listing for a play competition in honour of a playwright I was once "mentored" by. This person was specifically awful to me in the early 90s. I was an English drama major in university and spent a lot of time in the theatre community. I reviewed plays for the student paper, the English department newsletter, and on radio. I was a theatre sound tech, and also an assistant stage manager, playwright, actor, costumer, etc. I even got married in a theatre. I studied classical Greek theatre, too. I wore a lot of theatre hats, and for a while, I thought I might make my career in theatre. But working with this particular playwright shriveled up that desire. They took an active dislike to me. They ordered me to change things in my plays without even asking me what I meant by them. They made no secret of their dislike of me, yet because I had no one else to work with, I continued working with them for two or three years. And the last time I worked with them, they intentionally displayed my work in the worst possible way to an audience.

Professional actors did a reading of a section of my play before a packed audience. Under my mentor's direction, the part of my play performed was a tiny section immediately before and after a scene change. There was no context, and the ~2-minute excerpt made no sense whatsoever because of it. Whereas other playwrights had entire ~10-minute scenes performed and appreciated, the incomprehensible snippet of mine made the audience all go "HUH?" audibly. I was mortified and fled the theatre.

That was the last play I wrote for about twenty years.

"A Time for Dolls" is the first play I wrote after being treated so abyssmally by my mentor. I didn't realize until seeing the listing for the play competition that the reason I hadn't written another play until recently was because of the trauma they had inflicted upon me.

Maybe I'll write more plays again some day, in spite of that nasty person.

To this day I don't know why this playwright was so awful to me. I don't know what I could ever have done to inspire such mistreatment. But it has taught me a lesson. Be kind to upcoming writers. Be kind to baby writers. It's easy to kill a seed, but more fulfilling to nurture it.

Being mean is easy. Being kind is worth the effort.

In other news, my ghost story "The Last Trench" is to be published in the flora/fungi horror anthology "Bitter Become the Fields." A kickstarter is planned for it. I think this is a really cool concept for an anthology, and I'm looking forward to it.

My #LandBack vengeance story "The Tupilaq" is a finalist for the Iridescence Awards and will be published in an anthology later this year by Kinsman Quarterly.

My poetry collection "Poemuit" was shortlisted for the QTBIPOC Prize at Kelsey Street Press. I've revised the collection and entered it into another competition. Maybe it'll win this time. One can hope.

I am now a member of the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association and the Canadian Science Fiction and Fantasy Association.

I've been taking horror writing classes and meet with fellow horror writers weekly for a critique group. I'm vibing well with them, and it is very motivating. I'm about 16,000 words into a novella (maybe even a short novel?) about runaway girls and their dog in 1970s rural New Brunswick. It's been a fun ride, and this story never wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for the encouragement of my mentor, Gurjinder Basran.

It's invigorating to have a writing community. I find it hard to keep disciplined in my practice without having someone to share my work with, and it's also great to be able to return that favour.

I was recently interviewed by Rachel Thompson on the podcast Write, Publish, and Shine. We talked about visceral writing and writing with ADHD. I even sound like I know what I'm talking about! If you'd like to check it out, I'm on Episode 91.

I should be featured on another writing podcast this spring. More details on that to come.

I'm still plugging away at my new novella, a story about two little girls and their dog lost in the Appalachian forests of New Brunswick in the early 70s. I'm having fun writing this one, and folks who've had the chance to read what is written so far adore it. I've applied for a residency in Banff to continue working on this cycle of stories. They're all set in the fictional community of Temperance Ridge. It's based heavily off my personal experiences growing up in the Keswick region of New Brunswick.

My story Thumbing to Sugar Daddy Oberon is now live at MetaStellar.

My story "The Last Trench" has been accepted for the Flora and Fungi anthology published by Horns & Rattle Press. I'm not sure on the publication date yet.

The day before yesterday, I sent a query letter to a publishing house I like for a collection of short stories. The very next day, the editor sent me an email requesting the full manuscript. This was the first time I've ever sent a manuscript query letter, so I guess I must've done a good job! I highly recommend the podcast The Shit No One Tells You About Writing. That's where I learned the most about query letters.

But wait! There's more.

Yesterday, after about 2.5 years of struggling, I finished the first draft of my novel The Everwhen. I'm gonna get that bad boy printed at Staples or something, and then I'm gonna slam it down on the table. BAM! I plan on taking a bit of time off from the manuscript to clear my mind and work on other writing projects, and then I'll read the whole thing while making revision notes. In case you're wondering, it clocked in at 95,000 words. I had estimated 100,000 words at the onset. Not bad.

Now I need to write up a final report for the folks at the Waterloo Arts Fund. I received a grant from them to help support me while working on this beast.

I'm still not finished my manuscript. It's hanging there like a loose tooth. So close to being finished, but not quite there. I've been stalled by my health (chronic health conditions are a serious pain in the arse), but I finally finished a chapter which has been stalling me for weeks. Forward momentum has once again been achieved. Onward! This manuscript is sponsored by the Waterloo Arts Fund.

My poem This is the Time Just Before Spider Woman Meets Kiviuq is live on West Trestle Review.

I wanted to apply for the Masters program at Northwestern University, but when I learned they only want a 2,500-word writing sample, that waved a big red flag right in my face. How can they get an idea of someone's breadth of writing in such a small sample? I'm not a one-trick-pony when it comes to writing. I'm a buffet table! I'm a playwright, poet, novelist, essayist, memoirist, and short story writer. I write book reviews, smut, literary fiction, speculative fiction, and uncategorized weirdities. I'm also a proof reader and have experience as a copy and line editor. Though I crave structured learning and mentorship, I will find it another way: possibly through the private sector.

Once a month, I run a co-writing group for Indigenous writers in conjunction with the Indigenous Poets Society. It's been running on the first Tuesday of the month since November. It's a small group, but one I'm grateful for. We get a lot of writing done, and have a fun time with it. If you are an Indigenous writer and would like to write along with us, contact me at shanmonster at gmail dot com. We vet people beforehand to avoid Zoom bombers.

Here are my publications for 2023. I hope I have even more this year!

“Wolf Mother.” Fiction in Augur 6.2.
“The Redcoats Are Coming.” Micro fiction in NUNUM’s Done in a Hundred Anthology.
“How the Blubber Boy Came to Be.” Poetry in The Deadlands Magazine.
"The Snow Hath No Queen." Winner of Seminal Edits' Dystopian Fiction Competition.
"The Anxious Writer." CNF in Fall 2023 issue of Open Minds Quarterly
“The Silent Madness of Whales.” CNF in About Place Journal.
“Sibyl Has a Heart of Gold.” Short fiction in The Temz Review.
“Original Sin.” Poetry in Arc Poetry Magazine: Disability Desirability.
Featured book reviewer in month of August for CAROUSEL Magazine
“The Ghosts of Forests Past.” CNF in Solarpunk Magazine Issue 10.
“Anirniliit: Those Which Breathe,” “Nuliajuk’s Promise,” “Seasons of the Nattiq. Poems in Spring 2023 issue of Yellow Medicine Review
“Monkey Business.” Short YA fiction in Spring 2023 issue of Yellow Medicine Review.
“How to Make Boiled Potatoes.” Memoir in 2023 Festival of Literary Diversity Program
“Lost and Found.” Memoir in Grande Dame Literary Journal
Various book reviews for Cloud Lake Literary

My story "Words Unspoken" didn't make the cut, but I sold three poems to EVENT Magazine. They should be coming out soon.

I have two short stories coming out in the Mihko Kiskisiwin / Blood Memory anthology in January.

My micro fiction "The Redcoats are Coming" has been published in the Done in One Hundred Anthology. You can purchase the softcover book at the link, or read the entire thing through the preview online.

This is not something I wrote, but I've been contemplating it for weeks now. If you want to read a compelling horror short story with no characters, check out Hippocampus by Adam L. G. Nevill. I aspire to write environments this well.

My poem "How the Blubber Boy Came to Be" has been released online at The Deadlands.

My short story "Wolf Mother" has been published in issue 6.2 of Augur Magazine.

"Words Unspoken," a new short story, has made it to the second round of adjudication for another magazine. I should find out within the week whether or not it's made the cut.

I continue to get rejections, as well. One magazine has rejected two pieces in a row, yet the editor keeps saying they like it, but it's not right for the current magazine--send more! So that's something, I guess.

People like my writing, and that brings gladness to my heart.

My play "A Time for Dolls" finished fourth over all in the Native Voices Award sponsored by Kinsman Quarterly. I was told there were over 400 entries. The play will be published in an upcoming issue of Kinsman Quarterly as well as in the Native Voices anthology.

My poem "This is the Time Just Before Spider Woman Meets Kiviuq" has been accepted for reprint in West Trestle Review. It should be out in January/February.

My personal essay "Saddles in the Kitchen" has been accepted by Redivider and will be published in the Spring 2024 issue.

I'm getting very close to completing the first draft of my novel The Everwhen. I'm around ~90,000 words in. This has been sponsored by the Waterloo Arts Fund.

I am contemplating getting a Masters degree in creative writing. I'm currently looking at the programme at Northeastern University.

I'm also applying for a writing residency at the Banff Centre for the Arts.

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Nudity is Only Skin-Deep

Doomed by Oxygen

Entries tagged with writing

The Time A Grifter Got Me

Write Off

Wanna Play?

Write and Bite

The Write Stuff

And Done!

I Think I May

Breaking Radio Silence

Saddles in the Kitchen

The State of My Industry

I'm Still Going

How it all Played Out

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

Back on the Airwaves

More Where that Came From

Red Letter Day

Running Out of Ink

Happy Saturnalia!

Words Worth

I Guess It's Not a Fluke