A dialogue-driven piece of creative nonfiction was published by Porcupine Literary.
“Theme & Variation” is ready for your eyes.
A dialogue-driven piece of creative nonfiction was published by Porcupine Literary.
“Theme & Variation” is ready for your eyes.
I wrote a poem entitled “notice five things” (which is currently a finalist for the 2024 Beals Prize for Poetry (more on that later) based on my visits to art museums while composing a manuscript in progress. I also wrote a creative nonfiction version of the events (sort of, kind of), which was just published in After the Art.
“Perspective” is now out in the world.
One of the pieces I’m most proud of writing, “being present,” was just nominated for a Best of the Net Award in prose! It was originally published in Porcupine Literary (which previously nominated it for a Pushcart).
I keep writing creative nonfiction and (for some reason) people publish it. “How to Tell a Pure Rage Story” pays homage to Tim O’Brien's “How to Tell a True War Story,” but is a tale all its own.
It's now published in Mayday Magazine.
I have a guest blog post for A Game for Good Christians’ Card Talk series entitled “God Planning Your Pain to Make A Point.” It employs one of my theological sonnets that appears in The Third Renunciation.
I previously had the privilege of editing AGFGC’s literary anthology This Present Former Glory: An Anthology of Honest Spiritual Literature.
If you don’t know A Game for Good Christians, imagine what you get if you crossed Cards Against Humanity with the Bible.
My creative nonfiction essay “Inscrutable” was nominated by Redivder for a Best of the Net Award.
This is my first time being nominated for my prose.
My creative nonfiction piece “Being Present” was just published in Porcupine Literary. It stands on the shoulders, pays homage to Jamaica Kincaid (and Maurice Carlos Ruffin).
Functionally, it’s a love letter to my kids: past, present, future.
“That’s some white people shit.”
“What?”
“Were all of the people who thought you were gay white?”
“It’s not that they thought I was gay exactly…”
“Not straight. Whatever. Were all of them white?”
“No.” I mentally scroll through faces and races. “Yes?”
“See? You don’t fit their Black-Man stereotype, other than dating white women…”
“Hey…”
“Whatever nigga: you do you. I’m just saying you don’t fit their image of what a Black man is ‘supposed’ to be. You’re not some overly masculine thug, sitting on a stoop, rocking a durag and sipping a 40. A sensitive and educated Black man, who works with kids seems femme to them. So, they assume you’re not straight.”
“No, V. That can’t be it.”
It was.
He knows the myth, but he is the model minority. The all-around A-student: attentive, astute, Asian. He’s good at math and science, but also garners excellent grades and respect in my sophomore honors English class. He’s soft spoken, but thoughtful. So as the others call out, he raises his hand and waits patiently. When I acknowledge that he will be next, he lowers it back to his desk, places the other over a delicate wrist. When he does speak, on an average Wednesday, I will swear in front of a class for the first time in twenty years of teaching.