Invisibility was better than a diplomatic passport.
JUNE 1940 BY BUD JENNINGS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 23
He stood there in wonder as he watched the Germans make their way down the avenue toward Place de la Concorde. Invisibility was better than a diplomatic passport.
Paris on the day it fell to German invaders. The awesome reality of everything that was in front of him. With all his energy diverted to his greedy eyes, he stood, slack jawed and with paretic arms. He leaned over, breathed deeply, as if he’d just completed a foot race. Breathe, breathe.....
I am a nineteen-year-old college student at Vanguard University of Southern California, where I am furthering my passion to be a working writer, studying English with a Creative Writing emphasis before hopefully going on to grad school. hannahlush.blogspot.com; firstname.lastname@example.org
I have always seen the world in single-panel cartoons. Within the past year I have gotten two regular cartoon gigs, a dream come true. One is a weekly spot in Seven Days, Vermont’s Independent Newspaper, and the other is a bi-monthly series entitled I Am an Artist in Pyragraph—a career, culture, and how-to online zine for artists of all stripes. everettecartoons.com
My poems are published in Byline Magazine, Time of Singing, Sacred Journey, The Penwood Review, The Poet’s Art, Love’s Chance Magazine, SP Quill Quarterly, Pulsar Poetry Magazine, New Verse News, Ruah, The New Renaissance, Wild Violet, The Shepherd.
June 1940 is an excerpt from a novel I just finished writing, In and Out of Paris. It’s a work of magical realism that follows Owen Kinsella, a blithe cliché, an American expat painter living in the City of Light. A clairvoyant tells him he will discover marvelous ways to travel, and Owen learns he can enter photographs at will. In this excerpt, Owen steps into a photograph of Paris on the day the Germans invade in 1940.
I started writing this novel when I was back in my Massachusetts hometown to help out my mother after my father died. I had lived in Paris before, and being away maybe helped me to try to unravel my impressions. I am fascinated by the French psychology: their humor, their obsession with the occult, their preoccupations with, and perceptions of, America. I’m also intrigued by the evolution of gay culture, in particular the factions among gay men and the discordant views of love. Owen, the novel’s protagonist, sees love and commitment as relics that undermine his inalienable right to sow his wild oats.
I have pieces of a memoir in Superstition Review and Gertrude. My fiction has been published in Educe, Christopher Street, Between C&D, and Stuff (Boston). An excerpt of my novel has been published in Coloring Book: An Eclectic Anthology of Fiction & Poetry by Multicultural Writers (Rattlecat Press).
I got into writing poetry when I was eight years old. I wrote my first poem after watching the She was Gone episode of As Told by Ginger. The poem in it was just so beautiful that it inspired my first poem, To Be Seen.
I’m obsessed with workout videos. I love reading screenplays. I think the Volvo S40 is the greatest car ever created. And I’m working on an MFA in Creative Writing at Butler University in Indianapolis. Katieoneill2011@gmail.com
I am a retired teacher living in Rhode Island. Since my retirement I have been working with The Rhode Island Paranormal Research Group. My experience with them has taught me that most ghosts are simply people who have passed over to the other side. They are waiting for help, acknowledgement, or communication, and are not intent on scaring or threatening people.
Theatre has always been my first love, and all my pieces are written to be performed—starting with my one-woman show, Milk Street, at the Maui Fringe Festival in 2011 where I won both the Koa and Hoku awards (best play, best actress).
ANITA N VOELKER
I am an associate professor at Messiah College in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania, where I teach Children’s Literature. I teach tomorrow’s teachers about literacy, but primarily, I want them to fall in love with reading and become pathological about writing in their daybooks/journals. email@example.com
My life, in essence, can be found in the story: the family in the story is essentially mine; for a time, those family dinners were the kind I was present at regularly, those people were the ones who helped raise me.