Wednesday’s Book Look–Unburied: A Collection of Queer Dark Fiction

I’ve been a little off-kilter lately. First the time change, and now temperatures are rising, and it seems winter has left. While I like all things nature-related, winter and autumn are my favourite seasons.

I miss cold, crisp days, and walking in the snow, and eating dinner when it’s actually dark out.

And so it was chillingly comforting when I read Unburied: A Collection of Queer Dark Fiction.

The characters were like the voices of friends, by virtue of their shared experiences that were revealed in many of the stories.

Yes, the content was dark, but it also felt like some mysterious, imagined presence had appeared, wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, and whispered to me “you are not alone”.

Maybe that’s why I’ve been a little discombobulated lately. Reading this collection of stories was not only a haunting experience, but a visceral one as well.

Sure, I could talk a lot more about this anthology. But it’s proving to be a bit of a challenge, because my readerly experience went deep. And I’d rather listen, anyway. Listen to all the authors’ voices, as they tell their stories. Stories that remind me that I’m not so alone, after all.

Special thanks to Editor Rebecca Rowland for the advance reader’s copy.

You can dig up a copy for yourself when it releases June 1: https://rowlandbooks.com/unburied. Because, admit it, we could all use a little less “alone time” and a little more community, about now.

Am I right, or am I right?

A Tide’s Breath Apart

…it’s a day of hauntings and heartbreak and loss, and maybe just missing things that you never had (but were close enough to hold on and never let go)…

…the theme of the poems I’ve been reading on people’s blogs seem to reflect this ‘strange day’ mood…

https://handsinthegarden.com/2020/11/29/2020-11-29-baked-with-love/

https://handsinthegarden.com/2020/11/29/2020-11-28-deep-love-sounds/

https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/2020/11/29/poem-prosblackandwhitephoto/

https://theconfessionalistzine.wordpress.com/2020/11/25/2-poems-by-mark-tulin/

https://poeeternal.com/2020/11/29/leadnotflower/

https://punknoirmagazine.com/2020/11/29/a-strange-night-by-ian-lewis-copestick/

Here’s my ‘strange day’ experience…a kinda, sorta teasing visit from my cherished muse…

A Tide’s Breath Apart

I slept the sleep of the dead
if the dead dreamed
during their thick & heavy sleep
I dreamed
not exactly of you
but waiting for you
knowing even in the dream
that you weren’t coming
even though I knew you were
only separated from me by
a sparrow’s breath
a ripple on the tide of time
I can’t cross
except in dreams
except in this dream
where the meadow holds us close
together
and where
I’m reminded of your last
might-have-been look
before you walked away.
You, grey, clear, and so delicate;
a strand of grass, clinging
to its coat of winter frost.
I hold you close
and not at all delicately
but only in my dream.

–Willow Croft

Under a “Hunter’s Moon” with Philip Caputo

Book Review: Hunter’s Moon by Philip Caputo

Well, of course, I read his A Rumor of War in history graduate school. So, I was excited to receive a copy of Hunter’s Moon: A Novel in Stories in a giveaway hosted via Goodreads.

Not to stereotype, but I’m pretty sure I’m not Caputo’s target audience. A) I’m vegetarian B) If it were the zombie apocalypse, I’m pretty sure I would starve to death rather than hunt (and eat) one of my beloved animal friends.

But who knows what you would do in that scenario to survive? Maybe I’d be a pretty good hunter and gatherer. Which is why these stories surprised me, in much the same way as if I would become the Darryl (from Walking Dead fame) with his hunting acumen. But, even in my writerly let’s-get-a-story-from-them daydreams, I still can’t imagine shooting an animal.

Because of that, I wanted not to like this story collection.

I’m not even really a fan of general fiction. I’m a genre reader, pretty much these days.

So that’s at least two strikes. The third being that I’m getting more and more women-centric these days–way above and beyond my usual feminist beliefs. Men have had the limelight for long enough in this world.

But the writing won me over. The good old turn-of-the-phrase. Haunting, sparse, compelling me to read on.

And, because, as I’m entering into the confusing swamp of middle age, these stories all had a theme I could relate to.

I don’t know what to call it, really. A loneliness that feels like an old friend. A poignant seeking for something that will not be able to be resolved as long as we’re still sitting in the box called the human condition. A quality that reminds me of the kid that so wanted to be a child of the forest and the wild, instead of living among people, and yet was drawn indoors by the lure of sustenance, or the fear of punishment.

Of being alone, still, among all the other seven billion and counting people on this planet, taking up more and more space. And that it is, in fact, even more lonely for people like me.

It’s a transition that I haven’t come out the other side of yet. But the stories captured in Hunter’s Moon tell me that maybe I don’t have to know, yet. I can just sit with it a while, under the hunter’s moon, until the sun rises on the next part of my life. Or that the moon keeps an eternal watch on this, the end times (sans zombies).

(I received this book via a giveaway hosted by the book’s publisher/author via Goodreads.)

 

 

Torrent Rising…

 

Torrent Rising

The bass of the speakers

makes my heart change rhythm

and I am old, and uncomfortable

with crowded people

hurting me with their rudeness

and sharp elbows.

So I find a quiet spot

where I can hear the music

de-obnoxious-fied.

I wonder why I’m even here

and I’m answered when

the band starts playing

blued, and blue notes

but it’s only for one song

as crisp lightning shatters the sky.

And then, it’s just you and me

and a handful of young girls

who all want your attention,

and I don’t want to be them,

but I don’t want to leave,

for I, too, still have dreams.

And so I dance up into the sky

with the memory of a song

not played

and the storm makes me beautiful enough

for me.

–Willow Croft

The Storm Within