Keep reading for poetry and an important announcement!
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Frostbite
Amelia S. Dickerson
The snow falls in silence—
singing all the way,
chilling me to the bone
A flurry of frost guides me,
pleading for me to follow,
taunting me with
dreams of summer
through my restless slumber
Though winter is the darkest night,
the ice shares his secrets with me;
I never knew I could
find love amongst the snowfall:
fractals and poetry together,
glittering as one in the pale sunrise
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The Poison Tree by William Blake
an unnecessarily censored poem by Danielle Jeanne
I was angry with my *bleep*
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my *bleep*
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I waterd it in *bleep*,
Night & morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with *bleep*,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and *bleep*.
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it *bleep*,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden *bleep*,
When the night had veild the pole;
In the morning glad I *bleep*;
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
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Ten Word Tale
Amelia S. Dickerson
I
Winter came at once in a cluster of frozen leaves.
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Blind Obedience
Danielle Jeanne
The coffee shop was filled with patrons, but, honestly, calling the place a “coffee shop” might have been a poor choice on the author’s part. The shop sold t-shirts, jeans, alcohol, canned food, canned milk, car parts, and electronics on top of the coffee they sold in the far back corner with the frazzled-looking barista (you would appear just as discombobulated if you had to handle all of the transactions in the shop as well as make all the half-caf-large-two-pump-of-vanilla americanos that seem to be the “new thing” that kids these days were drinking by the gallon).
In the opposite corner of the coffee shop, there was a bell.
It was silver and looked like those old-fashioned bells that rang at boxing matches. The bell was in practically perfect condition except for the dent that had formed when Francis Garibaldi had had one too many beers and grew upset at the recent hike of t-shirt prices. Next to the bell was a yellowing sign that stated: “PLEASE DO NOT IGNORE THE BELL”. No one read the sign.
It was nearing 10:04 in the morning when all of the patrons had a seat in the shop. There were no chairs, so the floor would do. Many of them had their arms full of not yet purchased supplies but every single one of them had a cup of fresh hot coffee. The coffee never tasted good here, but they always bought a cup. Even the young children clinging to their mother’s shirt had a cu—
DIIINNNGGG
Well, that’s just rude, to interrupt the author when they’re typing. I hadn’t even gotten to type “When the clock struck 10:05, the nearly-pristine bell in the corner rang—and every man, woman, and child drank their cup of ill-tasting coffee”. Almost no one liked to drink the coffee, but everyone still drank it.
DIIINNNGGG
Everyone took another long pull of their coffee.
DIIINNNGGG
As one unit, people began to stand up and throw their empty cups away and make their purchases. A few people left the store, promising to never come back until the quality of the coffee improved. Those people always came back the next day anyway, just to see if the coffee had gotten any better. It never did.
The yellowing sign in the corner stayed tacked on the wall like it had been for the last fifteen years. It was still ignored by all the patrons in the coffee shop. But it was always obeyed.
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Editorial
Amelia S. Dickerson
As a general rule, I like my editorials to be reflective, especially around Christmastime. However, this needs to be informative as well, but I’ll do my best to balance the two. It’s never too late to try something new, I guess.
That Stupid LitMag started two years ago with a vision that was (admittedly) hazy. I just wanted an outlet for my writing, to get into the regular habit of writing and editing and publishing my work and the work of others. We’ve changed formats a few times, added new writers, and revamped our website a time or two. We’ve evolved—slowly but surely—and I’m incredibly pleased with our progress, but it’s time for another something new.
TSLM isn’t ending, not by a long shot, but it’s time for a new name. I’m proud to announce that we’ll be known as Ink Consequential starting in January 2017. We’re still the same people doing the same things, just with a new style. We’d love to have you join us in our next steps, either by sharing your writing with us or by continuing to read and share our issues. We’re always grateful for your support!
That being said, here’s to a new year and to many new adventures—may God bless the road ahead for all of us.
Somewhere in Gaza, a little girl not yet eight years old has learned how to play with Death. He visits her often, and she sees him every night in her dreams. He takes a seat on a boulder, holds an imaginary cup of tea; two spoonfuls of sugar, please. He chats with her about the weather—it’s been getting chilly lately. The little girl does not like heat, but the cold is even less tolerable without a jacket. She knows Death has visited those who tried to warm themselves up by starting fires, and choked in their sleep on smoke. She knows, for Death told her so himself.
The little girl has plenty of time for tea parties, as she does not attend school at the time being. She would like to. She dreams of becoming a doctor one day, and she cannot do that if she stays out of school for too long. Opportunities are very limited in Gaza. But if she becomes a doctor, she may get to play with Death for the rest of her life.
The sun begins to grow low in the sky, and Death must leave her for a little while. She will see him in her dreams, she promises. Some traditions are unbreakable.
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Keep reading for poetry, punctuation tidbits, six word sagas, and more!
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Omission Poetry - Scars (Five Letter Words Removed)
Danielle Jeanne
I don’t notice the _____ at first
How they _____ _____
In the _____
From the lamp in my room
I don’t notice how many I have
On my arms
On my legs
On my body and face
I don’t remember how I got them all
From falling down at work
From a _____ slipping off a cutting _____
From a fire
I remember who gave me _____
My brother
Myself
No one important
No one at all
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Interrobang Investigations - Embarrassing Em Dash
Amelia S. Dickerson
If you’ve been writing long enough, you’ve probably seen this special character: —. It’s called an em dash because it’s as wide as the font is tall, which is also known as an em; in 12 pt font, an em dash is 12 points wide. This, of course, sounds like the pronunciation of the letter M with good reason—the capital M is as wide as it is tall. Hence, em.
There are several ways you can use an em dash—in place of a colon, in place of parentheses, to display a quick change in thought, to set off a definition...there are more, but we’re only going to look at two of the modes today.
I’m going to use some of my example sentences from when I wrote about parentheses to demonstrate how to use an em dash instead:
P.S. By the way, I went to the tailor’s shop yesterday (the one by the baker, not the milliner).
P.S. By the way, I went to the tailor’s shop yesterday—the one by the baker, not the milliner.
In this example, we simply place an em dash where the parenthetical phrase starts; there is no need to place another em dash at the end of the sentence because the aside is at the end, and the em dash isn’t a form of bracket, unlike a parenthesis. Let’s look at another one:
I walked to Jill’s house yesterday (I wonder how far that was), but she wasn’t home.
I walked to Jill’s house yesterday—I wonder how far that was—but she wasn’t home.
As for this example, the parenthetical phrase is in the middle of the sentence, so we do need to close out the phrase with another em dash to indicate that we’re returning to the previous train of thought.
Em dashes can also be used in place of colons in some circumstances. Let’s take a look:
Things to buy: tomatoes, oregano, salt, pepper, basil.
Things to buy—tomatoes, oregano, salt, pepper, basil.
Also:
The houseguests were: Johnny, Susan, Mark, Lily, Robert, and Elaine.
The houseguests were—Johnny, Susan, Mark, Lily, Robert, and Elaine.
I should add that my personal preference is to use a colon with a complete subject-verb phrase—The houseguests were—and an em dash when using an incomplete thought—Things to buy.
I hope I haven’t confused you too much about the em dash—it is punctuation, after all.
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Bookish Things - Broken Monsters by Lauren Beukes
Adrianna N
Electrifying settings filled with suspense and mystery. Vibrant, hyper-realistic characters whose pasts unravel as you turn the page. White knuckles, paled by how hard you grip the book while you grind your teeth in anticipation.
Lauren Beukes offers all these amenities and more in her novel Broken Monsters. It takes place in central Detroit, where the novel’s many main characters tell their tales chapter by chapter, offering the reader a plethora of perspectives on a single story. Not your typical murder mystery, this book combines the urban art scene with its characters’ complex relationships to create a unique “whodunit.”
Are you sick of NYPD detectives falling in love with one another as they try to crack a run-of-the-mill murder case? Then this novel is for you. I, for one, didn’t realize I’d read a murder mystery until after I finished the last page; the characters’ lives are so rich that they absorb nearly all of your attention, allowing only a tidbit for the creepy twist toward the end. Beukes is fantastic at weaving every character’s miniature story with the next, creating a vivid experience you won’t want to miss.
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A Robot of Poor Design
A poetry submission from Rees Hayes
A robot of poor design
Looking around the Junkyard,
Finding parts of his life that are in need of repair:
Capacitor feelings,
Resistor emotions,
Computer chip thoughts
All not his, but he takes them anyway
A robot of poor design
Walks along the street
Seeing other robots of better design
Some have faults, like him
Others do not seem to have any at all
A robot of poor design
Lies on a mattress and waits for the new day,
His mind processor sending him damaged data,
Breaking his shell,
Making him see the world wrong
He waits
Breathes
Waits
Processes the damaged data
A robot of poor design
Bumps into another robot in the Junkyard
It looked like it was lost, but it wasn’t.
Its design was perfect.
They connected
They shared
A robot of poor design
Walked along the Junkyard with his friend
Searching for something that they didn’t need
He found a new pair of optics,
Installed them
He talked to his “perfect” friend
And realised that they weren’t
A robot of poor design
Saw for the first time
That his world wasn’t as perfect as he seemed
He and his friend walked along the street
And saw how poorly designed the other robots were
A robot of poor design
Rattled his main processor for an answer
His friend, too.
They came to realise that no-one is designed “perfectly”
And that the world wasn’t as flawless as they thought
Which made them happy, in a way
A robot of poor design
Walked in the world and saw the poor designs of others
And helped them with their cracked mind processors,
Short circuited computer chip thoughts,
Overloaded capacitor feelings,
And too-powerful resistor emotions
A robot of poor design
Laid down
And smiled
The robot of poor design
Was happy with his broken self
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Haiku Hiccups
Amelia S. Dickerson
I
sleep overcomes you
as the sun starts to rise,
turning the morning red
II
our hair used to be
brown; hers is white after her
chemotherapy
III
the smell of autumn
came overnight: cinnamon
and chills that excite
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Housekeeping Hostilities - Freakin’ A
Danielle Jeanne
When I come to work on the weekends, I already know to expect two things. Firstly, I’ll be the second person on a two-man team, which means I’ll have to trail the person in front of me so we don’t go out of order; secondly, the person in front of me is Freakin’ A.
Now, I truly do like most of my co-workers. Some have their quirks, sure, but they are pretty likable people overall. The only one I don’t like is Feakin’ A. She can be nice enough as a person—sometimes—but I mostly dislike her for the simple fact that she is the slowest person on the planet to do their job. It would be fine except that she isn’t at the end of our team. Oh, no, she starts us off.
The best rule of thumb is to try to be sixty minutes’ worth of work behind the person in front of you just in case they are quickly called to do something else or if there’s extra cleaning that they need to do in a room.
The furthest I’ve ever been behind Freakin’ A is fifteen minutes.
That day, I was almost done with half of the first schedule when Freakin’ A comes up to tell me that she’s going to take her break. Fine, no freakin’ problem. I finish up where I am and then finish that side of the schedule and head to break myself. Freakin’ A is nowhere in sight, so I take it that she’s already back to work. Twenty minutes later, my break is up; I head off to start my next side.
I see Freakin’ A on the last side of the schedule, so I stop to ask her if she is, in fact, all the way to Room 10. That would be a miracle! But, you know, why would that happen? She’s doing a different task and has only done Room 1.
So I wait.
And wait.
And wait seventy minutes for her to finish.
Only for her to go on lunch break.
Thanks Freakin’ A. Thanks.
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Tanka Troubles
Jana A
Memories
All you left me with
Was the vague notion that I
Possibly could have
Made you a little happy.
Could have affected you, too.
Responsibilities
Irritatingly,
Constantly omnipresent,
Never leaves me be,
Makes me feel like I'm always
Under hidden surveillance.
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Vibrant Yellow - Russet
Amelia S. Dickerson
November, to me, has always been very brown. The leaves are starting to die, cartoon turkeys hide everywhere, packages start coming for the Christmas enthusiasts...I think of brown when I think of these things. I get the impression from most people that brown is something boring and dull and dying, but I don’t think it has to be that way. November is full of life in the awkward period between Halloween and Christmas, yet it’s a brown month.
November tends to be a forgotten month; the early excitement for Christmas blends into December as the hype of Halloween is long-remembered with hidden stores of candy. While Americans celebrate Thanksgiving this month, it’s not something that people tend to remember as much as Christmas and Halloween, the bookends of the Holiday world.
But brown can be the light color of packages, the color of the dirt showing through the grass, the color of the table at Thanksgiving. Brown can be the color of turkeys, real or imagined. Brown is a transition from the orange of October to the red of Christmas: a color that’s not quite either and not quite both, but something good and grounding.
Brown can be dull, but brown can also be rich and shining and beautiful. What kind of brown will you make your November?
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Microfiction Mania - Window Washing
Danielle Jeanne
“Hey, sis? Just so you know, I don’t wash windows.”
I looked up from my phone over at my brother in the driver’s seat of his truck just to see him grin. “I’m just kidding! This is going to be great, just wait and see. I’ve already decide that we’re going to have a chore wheel and everything so that you’re not stuck doing all the work,” he told me, with his voice—and face—full of excitement. I was pretty excited myself; it was the first time I would move out of my parent’s house, and I had been saving up for almost a year. With a part-time job, I was very proud of my $1,000 that I had put into the duplex we shared.
We had moved in together with the intention of not having to depend too much on each other. It was easy. He would smoke outside to keep the white walls and carpet clean, and I would keep my bedroom door shut so none of my smelly socks would stink up the place. We both would do dishes. We both would vacuum. We both would do laundry.
He wanted to smoke in the living room after three days. He had put money into the place, so he should be able to do want he wanted. “Come on!” He said, “It’s my house, too!” He only had put in $200 for the down payment, but he was right. He had smoked whenever he wanted to in the living room.
“Hey, can you do the dishes tonight?” Sure, I had the time. So I would do the dishes. They would pile up until they were overflowing on the kitchen counter. I would do the dishes every single time from then on.
One day his girlfriend spilled the full ashtray on the carpet. He mopped it up with cold water and called his job done. He wouldn’t try to clean the floors anymore after he had seen the permanent stain that the ashes had left on the white carpet.
Not a single time did he ever try to wash the windows.
I would never ask him to, either.
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Six Word Sagas
Adrianna N
I
Too many dreams, not enough time.
II
Cats knead blankets; I need you.
III
I’m a writer—I never write.
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Yakking Yarns - Hands
Jana A
I remember the day you took my hand and told me, “Today is a day to kiss your troubles away.” A day of feeling the wet grass on our bare feet, of dancing to a song we had never heard of before; a day that made me feel, for once, complete. A day that made us wish for many more, a day trapped in the sunrise over the hills, a day unlike any other in its thrills.
You took my hand, and suddenly nothing was scary anymore. You took my hand that day, so I memorized yours: every edge and ridge and callous.
Your hand fit perfectly in mine.
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Unnecessarily Censored Poetry - A Birthday Poem by Ted Kooser
Danielle Jeanne
Just past dawn, the *bleep* stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of *bleep*,
waiting for someone to come
with his *bleep*
for the foamy white *bleep*,
and then a long *bleep* in the pasture.
I too spend my days *bleep*ing,
*bleep* on every green moment
till darkness *bleep*,
and *bleep* the others
I *bleep* away into the night,
swinging the little tin *bleep*
of my *bleep*.
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Editorial
Amelia S. Dickerson
The last seven months have been a whirlwind. My grandparents suffered a house fire in a home I practically grew up in, my grandmother got breast cancer for the second time in her life, my favorite elderly relative passed away...and I somehow became a woman in the midst of all this.
I had a conversation with a friend of mine sometime in August; he was in town from college, so we met up at a bookstore (not the one I talked about earlier this year!). We hadn’t seen each other since high school, and he asked if I’d changed at all since then. It was the first time someone else had posed the question to me, and I answered it as honestly as I could. I had started to feel like a woman instead of just a girl prior to that point, and I said that I’d come into my own a little bit more, among other things.
I don’t know if I’ve significantly changed in the short years since my graduation, but I have grown. I’ve become more confident, more outspoken. I’ve developed an extra sensitivity to my compassionate side—and I’d previously thought it was already sensitive enough. I have mourned and grieved and somehow come out the other side of things stronger—not just a stronger girl, but a stronger woman.
I don’t think that my journey into womanhood is even close to being over, but I do think that I’ve taken the step over that threshold at some point in the last year. I’ve become a woman, and it’s something I thought would never happen.
What a wonderful month we’ve had! Our 100th column was written this month, we added a new member to our team in the form of a website person, and this is one of our longest issues yet!
You can check out our newest issue on tumblr, on our website, or in a mobile-friendly version (this will open in your browser).
If you like us and want to help us support our website, head on over to our Patreon!
If you want to write for us, you have two options: you can submit an application here and be featured every month, or you can submit one piece of writing here. We love getting both!
If you have any questions for us, our ask box is always open! You can also email us at [email protected]
Thanks and happy reading,
—Amy, Dani, Jana, Adrianna, Rees
We’ve had a wonderful month! We received a submission that’s featured in this month’s issue, and we have a new writer! That being said, this is our longest issue yet (which is super exciting!), so that means more TSLM goodness just for you.
If you’re interested in submitting something to us for a future issue, please click here.
If you want to write for us regularly, please click here to submit an application.
You can find our issue on Tumblr or on our Wix site. There’s also a plain-text version here.
If you want to give us feedback, click here to go to our ask box or email us at [email protected]
