WINTER 2018, Scribe Base Online Magazine

Winter 2018

So honored to be part of the Winter 2018 Scribe Base online magazine with my poem Snow Falling and overjoyed to be sharing the pages with poetry and artwork from the Uber talented Kerfe from https://methodtwomadness.wordpress.com/2018/02/26/three-in-winter-2018-issue-of-scribebase/

Drop over to Scribe Base and download the issue here:

https://scribebase.wordpress.com/past-issues/2018-issues/winter-2018/

Thank you to Scribe Base for this opportunity and congratulations to all the artists involved (especially Kerfe!)

BE AFRAID BUT BUY THE BOOK…

Halloween may be a month away but believe me; fear has come early this year. Tomorrow is the official release date for Gehenna and Hinnom’s Year’s Best Body Horror 2017 Anthology. 

Do you like being scared; the fear finding its way into your flesh, hairs rising and sharpening, the silence being shattered by something sinister? Well go buy this wonderfully terrorizing book featuring a nerve wrecking collection of chilling tales to set your wits on end!

In the words of the publishers: Abodyemigphobia is the fear of the visceral aspects of the human body. Mutilation, alteration, and disfigurement at the epicenter of horror for many ages. In body horror we not only find something to fear, but we learn to fear ourselves.

How can one fear themselves? Why would something so natural disturb generations of readers?

Gehenna & Hinnom is honored to present the Year’s Best Body Horror 2017 Anthology, the most disturbing and blasphemous collection of horror to ever be read by human eyes. Enter the morose. Embrace the Unknown.

Oh, and I am in there too!

Available to purchase on kindle and that old classic book form.

Published: Nous sommes Paris, Poetry Anothology

 

Just back this weekend from work and joyous jet lag in Shanghai and discovered a real treat when I returned; the proof manuscript for the Paris poetry anthology, entitled #NousSommesParis being published by Eyewear Publishing this November, marking the one-year anniversary of the Paris attacks, which will include my poem Slow Moving Sorrow.

Truly honored to be featured in a book whose subject is the very sacred ground upon which I walk everyday.

Will remind you all of its release later in November…

Damien 

BREAKING NEWS; A TINY STORY

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It wasn’t front page breaking news or even in the supplement section. It wasn’t the sex scandal that scorched the headlines or bloody enough to have readers beat each other for a copy but it still found its way into black and white, pressed forever, or until the print faded, into a line between births and marriages, deaths and disasters.

“Mary, come take a look,” Peter called to his wife at No. 19, “it’s here. Look at it.”
Mary wrapped her dressing gown around her waist but didn’t need to ask what he meant as she came downstairs towards what she knew would be the tiniest of ads, for what more was there to say?

“Have you seen it?” Joe asked his brother over breakfast at No. 15.
“I did,” he said sombrely, “still can’t… can’t believe it. Has she called?”
“No,” replied Joe, “not a sound, but, sure… we’ll see her later.”

At No. 21, Matthew could hear the newspaper being shoved through the letterbox. He was lying on the daybed, in that room, with the cot, staring at a million stars they’d filled the ceiling with only a month ago.

Michael was busy folding the morning paper into a million creases at No. 22, covering it with smudged fingerprints, looking for yesterday’s football results when Anne came in and saw the mess he was making of everything that had kept her awake all night.
“Would it kill you to think of something other than sport, just for once?” she asked him, pulling the paper from his jam-stained clutch and bringing it up to her chest like it were gold leaf about to dissolve and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

At No. 20, the kids were throwing Cheerios at one another when John walked into the kitchen, wondering why his normally rule-rigid wife was ignoring the commotion as she held the newspaper up, lost in what she was reading. Was the world ending and only the newspaper was reporting it? He walked behind her to see what was stealing her attention and then, there it was, the tiny message, not even a paragraph, but it had been enough to let riot rule at their breakfast table that morning. He put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and Alice knew, instantly, that that gentle touch meant more than any words he could ever say.
“I can’t go over yet,” she told him, looking up from the newspaper to her children who played as if there wasn’t a worry in the world. Suddenly she felt guilty at being able to see her own kids on front of her, as wild and wearisome as they were.

Back at No. 21, Jane was also lying down, but in their own bedroom, when she heard the weight of the newspaper falling to the floor downstairs, just below the letterbox. She felt the force of it like it was a building falling on her chest. She couldn’t move, breath. She couldn’t face reading it, not just yet. Was it wrong to seek comfort in the shadows and stillness for just a moment longer? Was it wrong to let reality linger outside for another minute or two? She knew he was in the other room, that room, with its yellow walls and butterfly border. Why had they listened to everyone telling them to paint it yellow? Why was yellow a neutral colour? Now it felt simply cold, sickly and uninviting, or at least that’s what she imagined. She hadn’t gone into that room since, well, not for a while.

In a daze at No. 19, Mary made Peter his coffee, with a dash of milk and two spoonfuls of sugar. When she finished, she sat across from him at the table, watching him drink it, wondering how and when she’d made it. His black hair had a life of its own in the morning, finding every way to stick up, out of place and at odd angles but she would’t have him any other way. He put his cup down and caught her stare. The clock ticked away on the wall but he heard nothing except his wife’s gentle breathing and he realised that if that one sound was all he heard, for the rest of his life, then that would be more than enough.

Joe stood by the hallway mirror of No. 15, attempting to knot his tie for the forth time while his palms perspired.
“Ah, for God’s sake, did Dad teach you nothing?” his brother asked him as he came over and took the tie and all its complications away from his younger brother. When he finished, they both turned and looked at each other in their black suits, white shirts and black, now neatly knotted, ties.
“Our sister needs us today, so head up, young man,” he told Joe, smiling at him in the mirror but they both knew there was nothing concrete behind that smile to hold it up for long.

“For feck’s sake, come on now, Mick, why are we always the last ones? You’re always saying that women are the slow ones! And look at you, Jesus, was it too much to ask for a suit… on today of all days?” Anne was asking at No. 22.
“Ah for Christ’s sake, you kidding me? It’s bloody Tuesday, Anne. I’ve a job this afternoon. Want me fixing a leak in that penguin suit? I mark it and I’ll never hear the end of it from you.”
She took a deep breath, as if every reply from him lately was the wrong reply and he knew exactly what she was thinking, saw it all on her face. 18 years of marriage was a lesson in reading expressions, if nothing else.
“Hey, come here to me for a minute,” he said and, totally unexpected, he put his arms around her and held his wife against his chest like he had done so often in the early years and it felt so good, in that moment, to be held, to be wanted, to be still seen amid all that was now invisible.

“I want you both to behave today,” Alice told her kids while John finished washing the breakfast dishes at No. 20.
“Maybe we should get a dishwasher,” she then said randomly, “to make life a little easier, you know?”
“I think it’ll take more than just a dishwasher for that,” he answered with nod towards their two blonde boys, already kicking each other under the table, “don’t you agree? And you were the one who wanted kids?”
“We wanted kids,” she corrected him, “and aren’t we lucky to have them,” Alice reminded him and he hit his head with a sudsy covered hand for his majorly inappropriate remark in the midst of the current devastation that had brought a silence and a halt to life on their normally idilic street.
“Jesus, I’m sorry, you’re right… of course we are. I’m a gobshite at times.”
“That’s true, but I love you for that too,” she told him as she walked behind him on the way to put on her black dress and ran her hand along the broad expanse of his back, the back which she nestled her head against every night.

When they finished dressing at No. 21, they came downstairs together as the cars arrived. The silence felt like a presence that had moved in with Jane and Matthew, suffocating them. The only break came from occasional cries that filled certain rooms, cries from adults now, not their child. The newspaper was lying by the door. They didn’t pick it up. They knew what was written inside.

‘We held you for only a moment, but we’ll remember you for a lifetime.’

All Words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.

Photograph taken in the Musee Rodin, Paris, France.

Originally published by OriginalWriting in Ireland in their 2015 Short Story Anthology ‘Second Chance.’

BOOKS TO READ: Jane Dougherty & Christina Strigas

New Reading just arrived:

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Today I bought two new books from Amazon:

The first is a new novel from Jane Doughtery, entitled The Pathfinders, Abomination,  who you will recognise from http://www.janedougherty.wordpress.com and if you don’t recognise her then go check out her work, go on, move it…

And the second is a poetry book from Christina Strigas entitled Your Ink on my Soul who can be found at http://www.christinastrigas.com so after you’re finished looking at Jane’s site, move directly on to Christina’s and no dilly dallying…

Okay, time for me to read them…

 

Catch you all later X

‘How I Write’ interview for the Series by Nicola Cassidy

Today you can read my interview for the series ‘How I write’ by author and fellow Irish blogger Nicola Cassidy who describes herself as a writer, blogger, Mum, daughter, wife, sister, singer, marketer, pet owner and pet complainer.

Nicola’s blog features posts on marriage, motherhood, fashion, feminism, pregnancy, parenting and her series ‘How I Write’, interviewing published and unpublished writers to get an inside look at how they approach their craft.

You can also find one of Nicola’s short stories ‘The Blood of Goats’ alongside mine in the http://www.originalwriting.ie ‘Second Chance’ short story anthology which was published in Ireland last year and available to buy online from their website.  

http://ladynicci.com/how-i-write/how-i-write-damien-donnelly/

vegas

http://ladynicci.com

SECOND CHANCE, A SHORT STORY ANTHOLOGY

 

It’s here. Over the summer months, http://www.originalwriting.ie launched three short story competitions and chose 10 winners from each to create its short story anthology 2015.

On Friday 6th November 2015, in Dublin’s Central Hotel, ‘Second Chance’ gets its rousing Irish launch.

Paris take a breather, Dublin here I come…

Original Writing are an Irish self publishing company, founded in 2006 and based in Dublin. They also run regular competitions to encourage and promote upcoming writers. Check out their website for details on their self publishing packages, resources and an unmissable blog with help, hints and everything a writer needs to know.

This is the book, in a box, printed, published and waiting to be read. Roll on Friday…

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#GetWriting #GetReading

Firefly Magazine and The Fable Online

 

Today, two online journals are featuring my work and I am so proud to be a part of both of these amazing literary collections.

Today was the launch of the first issue of Firefly Magazine, a journal of luminous writing, showcasing poetry, flash fiction, short stories and art. Check out issue one through the link below. You can find my work in the poetry section. There are some amazing talents to be found in this brilliant new journal and check out their submission page as they are always looking out for new voices and artists. Congratulations to the Firefly team and all their garden elves for producing such a beautiful and impressive first edition. I wish them continued success.

Website: http://fireflymagazine.weebly.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/magazinefirefly

The Fable Online today published its 9th Issue, perfectly in time for Halloween and I am thrilled to be among the Flash fiction features with a suitably ghoulish little story of love, longing and the sweet taste of revenge in the shadows of Paris. There are 13 new pieces of work in total with a mixture of spookily flavoured Flash Fiction and Short Stories.

Website: http://www.thefableonline.com/2015/10/issue-9-halloween-special/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/FableOnline

#Getting Creative

Happy Halloween, Happy Writing, Happy Submitting, Happy Autumn

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

(this photo was last week during a stroll through autumn in the Jardin du Luxembourg)

Winning Days

A move from Amsterdam to Paris, 3 days of unpacking, painting, decorating, a trip home to family for nearly 3 weeks and then the news that I am a winner in the http://www.originalwriting.ie Short Story competition and will be part of their autumn anthology of short stories book!Feeling grateful to the Universe and all its magic and wonder.

The August short story competition is still open for submissions- check out their website from the web address above.


A rainbow on Bettystown beach, County Dublin, Ireland