Stories of mine from Camroc Press Review and Phantasmacore up at Digging Through the Fat today.
Since its inception, copies of Zymbol have made their way to readers on six continents, and its contributors hail from twenty countries and counting.
In 2014 Zymbol transitioned from a self-distribution model to working with mainstream distributors, bringing issues to hundreds of bookstores in the US.
Secret in the Desert
"We have no intention to try to pinpoint a concrete definition of magical realism or of slipstream. These terms are slippery, much like our amphibious mascot. And though some might contend that the term “magical realism” applies only to a particular time and place in the geopolitical landscape of the literary world, we’re interested in continuing the legacy of those writers by providing a beautiful, completely bilingual magazine to publish both established and emerging writers that share our love for magical realism and its various iterations. We love the absurd, the surreal, and everything in between."
Speculative flash magazine Farther Stars Than These has published my story, Mirror Tattoo.
Somehow, it looks like water. You approach it, and it waves, it sparkles. More like mercury, liquid silver, something impossible. Something undeniable.
Her secret tattoo artist does very good work. If she let on who he was, he would be killed.
Black obsidian looked back at Jason: a few feet from his face, the giant statue of his own eye hovered heavily above the canyon. The pedestal of the shining Ocularity jutted out at the tip of the narrow path of land jutting out over Colorado River’s millions of years. Around him, the red rock of Glen Canyon exuded sensation. Roiling storm clouds led the indefinite grey horizon on a charge against the twilit cobalt sky.
The rain splashed off the statue into his eye, and back again. The wind gusted him nearly into the yawning space below, and he turned to put one foot directly in front of the other on the rocky narrows. Wind knocked him to his knees, and he crawled along, gripping the sides with his hands, his thumbs holding onto the top’s flat surface. He reached the edge where he could stand up, and walked a few yards toward a Manzanita bush. He turned back around and stared at the eye.
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