Tag Archives: writing

Essay Published in Red Savina Review 1.2

Hello everyone,

If my attention to Pen Tight has been sparse in recent months, it is because I have been focused on lengthier short stories and creative non-fiction work. One of them, an essay about my experiences growing up on the North Shore of Chicago and attending the Mitzvahs of my friends and classmates, was recently published in Issue 1.2 of Red Savina Review.

I owe special thanks to RSR editor John Gist, who worked with me to realize the full potential of this essay. His guidance was a refreshing slice of genuine encouragement in a writing climate that can, at times, give a young writer great anxiety.

Again, thank you to John Gist, Wendy Gist and the rest of the team over at RSR. I know they worked hard to bring issue 1.2 to life.

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Filed under Featured Content, Writing

One Art by Nicholas DiClementi

I’m burning every poem
I’ve ever written.

Having collected all of my words
And stacked them in a neat pile,
I toss them,
No, hurl them
Into the metal wastebin
I keep under my desk
(How does it all fit?
I was sure
there was more than that!)
I strike the match
Against the side of the matchbox,
Watching the flame
Come to life
And dance
In front of my eyes.
I hold it there for a moment,
And then another,
And another.
My thoughts
Lead me astray.
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Filed under Featured Content, Guest Author, Poetry, Writing

Woe is Me: I’m a Raymond Carver Reject

Raymond Carver rejected me today.

It wasn’t personal, of course; Raymond Carver passed away in 1988. It was actually a publication named in honor of Raymond Carver that passed me up.

Months ago, I began work on a short story entitled Windswept. It’s the first real writing that I have ever committed my heart to and, since I completed draft seven on the day before the deadline for submissions, I decided to go for it.

Now, months later, I am reading a personable rejection letter courtesy of the folks at Carve Magazine. Woe is me.

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Filed under Essay, Featured Content, Writing

Roll on, Maggie

When I woke up all I could see was the teacher looking at me in the dim light of the overhead projector.

Now, with consciousness seeping back across my synaptic bridges, the various geometric proofs scribbled on the wall are like Egyptian hieroglyphics. The rest of the students are conspiring in the shadows, half-wits scoffing at a dimly lit dimwit. There’s drool on the desk.

“What’s wrong with you?” says teacher, “maybe you need to go to the vending machines for a can of pop? Get some sugar in you?”

This cheeky witch is hip! How much does she really know?

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Filed under Featured Content, Flash Fiction, Writing