I found this particular short story while I was combing through The Pinch's website trying to find something I could share. I've been a fan of The Pinch for awhile now but I noticed they don't put anything online ... yet. I did notice, however, that they provide links to contributing writers' homepages, which is a nice way to get interested visitors over to a favorite writer's site so they can find more information.
Ah, the Internet. Twenty years ago, there was no such things as "homepages." How did you collect your favorite writer? Well, I suppose you had to either wait for a book collection to come out, or comb through every literary journal every month to find your favorite writer's contributions ...
Here's a short snippet from "Stage Play in Five Acts of Her: Matinee" by Danielle Rae Bryant:
We swoon under hot lights melting the wax of our face. We can smell the face wax. It melts like candy paraffin filled with pastel pink and green and yellow sweet sugar syrup glistening with the dew from our mouths. We cannot smile. The makeup will not let us. Our mouth is an infinite O and our eyes pierce through baked on mascara.We are hollowed out and old and used, cracked from the stage lights, but between the cracking, beneath the grime, we are perfect. It does not matter. No one will want us soon. We are a dying art.
Click here to read the full story on BLIP.
I also recently found this handy little resource for writers that I plan on using for my next round of rejections. Worth checking out!
Cheers,
Ken Brosky
*/?>
