• Articles,  Blog,  Creative Writing

    Assumptions Abound: Dialogue with Jose Rivera

    Our dear friend Jose Rivera is well know in the theatre community and he’s earned that honor. Over the years he’s guided budding playwrights in their craft. After a decade or so he finally imparted to a wider audience some of his insights in “36 Assumptions About Writing.” Here in this little piece, I’ll pull Mr. Rivera into the realm of fiction, showing how some of his sagacity might be a little more universal than first perceived. First I will begin by presenting the assumption and then I’ll analyze it. Let’s take a look.

  • Short Stories,  Works

    Wisteria Needs

    “I’m sorry.” “It’s OK, Ann, I’ll be fine.” “Are you sure?” “Do I have much of a choice?” “Mom, you can’t think like that…Well anyways, I hear Jim coming downstairs, I need to get the kids ready.” “Taking them to the zoo again?” “No, Annie has ballet. It’s strange…but life somehow still goes on.” “It has to dear.” “Call me if you need anything.” “I will.” Liz held the receiver long after her daughter’s voice clicked off as if she yearned to find another sound within the soft static of the empty line. Noticing the absurdity of what she was doing, she quickly hung up the phone. Two weeks since…

  • Blog

    The Judah Mahay, Author App is Here!

    Explore the fantastical fiction, poetry, and musings of Judah Mahay in this free smartphone app with over ten short stories and fifteen poems. Bored on the subway? Fall into another world for a few minutes. You know you want to. Download the Judah Mahay, Author app for either Android or Mobile at judahmahay.ninja!

  • Short Stories,  Works

    Gift of a Soul

    Alfred gingerly squeezed his granddaughter’s shoulder, a hollow assurance, he knew. “The hour is old and yet this wretched siege still bays its horn.” “When is it going to end, Grandpa?” “Soon I think.” “Really?” Elsa perked up with a bright smile, a contrast to the dark hour. “Do not let joy win your heart yet.” “Why?” “We are losing.” “Should we pray, Grandpa?” “It’s past the time for prayer.” “But, isn’t that what you do?”

  • Blog,  Press

    Interview on WLIU 88.3 FM

    Judah was interviewed on WLIU 88.3 FM by host Bonnie Grice along with Gayle Wagner and Pat Synder. The focus is on the recent grant Judah received from the New York Foundation for the Arts issued by the East End Arts Council for his residency at the Watermill Center.

  • Poems,  Works

    The Eyes May See Differently

    Salt scraped from eyes Where, oh where are you Born with brittle sight I think no less Pitted spirit Left to mourn Broken nye Cast the mold of myself To make anew without you But spark no more, glazed the mind Meek no more, the shadow of my mold Always lined with vile self Oh, tender self wake What I made masters over me But dawn burns no more Grinning despair The smile kills the truth Animal to myself I know not where to go Always it ends in revenge To what To ourselves, foolish child This convoluted shell Breathe no more And dancing free, kissing lips, joyful tears Prized…

  • Multimedia Art

    Drool

    The image is of me in Japan, when I was horribly sick, while the text is a consciousness piece, also called drool, I wrote about a guy in a insane asylum.

  • Poems,  Works

    Gone

    I, as you, walk down this road of broken glass It dulls the mind with discord – memory It is instinct to look back What else is there to do, but move on to feeble hope Lost is the string of the grey stained path The pavement is cracked The land withers in the mirror of the glazed eye What have we song our lives to become How can we scrape ourselves together Into a semblance of existence It is true Our nails cannot bite deep enough Our screams cannot pierce loud enough Our sickness torment enough We do not hear ourselves We break We do not see That we are Gone

  • Featured,  Short Stories,  Works

    Lord of the Dome

    “Little rats, all my little rats.” The Lord of the Dome inhaled the damp rotten air with an impish grin, staring down upon the sniffing masses of his devoted followers. “Yes, yes. Drip goes the water to the tune, no gloom, of my glorious realm.”

  • Featured,  Short Stories,  Works

    The Trees of Evermore

    The forest watched Jared run. He could feel their eyes on him, even if he didn't believe it. He had grown to love these woods, and today he felt a part of them. He moved among them. Under branch, over fallen tree, around bush, and across stream, he ran, more akin to the forest than a passenger under its shadowy gaze.

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