Dragnet Magazine Issue Two
Dragnet Magazine Issue Two features work by Susan Musgrave, Nick Ripatrazone, and Midge Raymond, as well as many upcoming voices (see the trailer). Dragnet Magazine is a new online/eBook literary journal that trawls the sea of stories for the best fiction. We publish energetic pieces that push the boundaries of narrative form and/or work that makes us laugh, smile, cry, or have any strong reaction besides yawning, which I guess isn't actually that strong a reaction, but you get the point.
Dragnet Magazine Editors’ Letter Masthead by Andrew Battershill A Staff s Dragnet prepares Co-editors Andrew Battershill Jeremy Hanson-Finger Jena Karmali to leave the gentle, breezy West Coast for Artist-in-Residence J. McKee the focused wind-tunnel Contact Info of Toronto, I feel obliged to spout off with Web dragnetmag.net some childishly naïve optimism, while I am still in the presence of evergreen trees, Email email@example.com cherry blossoms, and the wonderfully blue Pacific Ocean. Facebook facebook.com/dragnetmag And so, the optimism: If you are Twitter twitter.com/dragnetmag reading this magazine, you are, almost certainly, a very lucky collection of Tumblr dragnetmag.tumblr.com particles. As self-aggrandizing as that may Issuu issuu.com/dragnetmag sound, my point is not to puff up Dragnet, Design but rather to say that most particles in cover Roxanne Ignatius the universe have pretty shitty existences. The optimism is not going well thus far, Layout Jeremy Hanson-Finger but bear with me. As far as we can see, many particles seem to be in stars that die Art Unless otherwise credited, all other art by J. McKee. in a day, or planets that don’t quite form properly. Earth, even in the limited context 2 Issue two of our itty-bitty galaxy, seems like a pretty fortunate planet on which to be a particle. And then, say by some crazy chance you are lucky enough to be one of the conscious collections of particles on our spinning, rotating planet the perfect distance from the sun, with gravity that neither crushes us nor lets us float away, and you get to be a human, with this heavy-duty brain and these super-complicated and dexterous hands with opposable thumbs. Opposable thumbs! And then, out of all the humans, you get to be one of the ones with the time, energy, and good humour to read an online literary zine. “Take another hit off the bong, Andrew.” Well okay, ventriloquized cynical archetype, if it makes me feel glad to be putting out an open source magazine, I will take another hit off the gratitude bong. I will take a thick cloud of generalized emotional warmth and appreciation “straight to the dome,” as they say on the West Side. 3 Dragnet Magazine eyes and told me that weâ€™d spend a lot of time together after I moved to Toronto in a way I found especially sincere. The next day, while I was waiting for the 15:10 to Montreal, a freight carrying fuel derailed and every train out of Toronto was cancelled, and, as quickly as breathing (and while he was, in fact, breathing) Jeremy offered me his couch. Making art with friends and making friends through making art are the two best things I can think to do, and here at Dragnet I am surer than ever that those two things are exactly what we are doing. To our talented contributors, and our Dragnet welcomes a new member lovely readers: Dragnet loves you all. to our editorial family this issue, Jena Karmali, a friend of Jeremyâ€™s from his xoxo publishing program. I have met Jena in person only once; She, Jeremy, and I saw a Andrew Battershill, Co-editor Tim Burton exhibit at the TIFF and then drank puzzling cocktails out of glass jugs. Afterwards Jeremy headed east, and Jena and I took the street car north. Before we went our separate ways at the subway station, we exchanged pleasantries, and after the usual ones, she looked me in the 4 The way forward Jasmine Szabo-Knox Reunion 6 Susan Musgrave Talkin’ ‘Bout My...Medication 10 Leslie Bank Derby 14 Caitlin Stall-Paquet Cheesy Kind of Love 18 Andy Sinclair Speculations 22 Laura Ashworth Little Accidents 26 Sarah Kendall You, Green Sweater with Taped Glasses Me, Readhead Busted for Smoking 30 Amanda Abdelhadi A Waqui Way of Knowledge 34 K. A. Laity Soap Opera Digest 40 Midge Raymond Witch Creek 43 Nick Ripatrazone His Children 50 Contributor Bios 53 Dragnet Magazine Reunion by Jasmine Szabo-Knox O wen wanted to I really had to go but there were mean see me again, is what looking teenagers loitering. Owen told me he said on the phone. to hold it. He took me by the elbow and I met him in front of across the parking lot inside. his office in the Techno Park, and he was I used the bathroom and he bought feeding a groundhog Doritos. me a red slushie plus an all-access bracelet. “Cute,” I said. He asked me what I wanted to do. We were He was sort of balding and I liked the still shivering from the outside and it hurt tan suit he wore under a black parka. After to sip my drink. work I changed into jeans in a bathroom “I’ll do whatever,” I said. stall and my skirt suit was in a grocery bag He bought himself a screwdriver from in my trunk. I followed his car in my car the bowling alley bar, but he wasn’t up to to the Recreateque. We never went there bowl, he said. when we’d dated. We played cards with “Can you skate?” he asked. his parents in their kitchen and had sex in “Probably,” I said. their basement. He bought himself another screwdriver Owen drove too slowly and used and me a hot dog. We went upstairs to his horn all the time. He got cut off a the roller disco and they wouldn’t let me lot. We hugged in the parking lot of the in with food. There were four tables with Recreateque, which was shared with empty chairs in the lounge between the a McDonald’s. I wanted to use their staircase and the disco so I sat and ate my bathroom because it was closer to us. dinner. Owen ran downstairs for another 6 Issue two Andrew Hammerand 7 Dragnet Magazine screwdriver. then went downstairs for another I asked for size 8 skates but they were screwdriver. When he came back I was all out. There were six people on the floor. making my way around the rink. I didn’t I crammed one mitt into each size 9 skate fall. Sometimes I got good but then the and stood up. I felt like Bambi. I practised disco lights would throw me off and I’d for a few minutes on the outside of the wobble. I kept my eyes on my skates except rink, near Owen, who sat in a chair. when I passed by Owen, then I’d shrug “I feel like I’m learning to walk all over and I’d giggle. Giggling is a bad habit of again,” I said. mine. It became so that sometimes when “Baby elephants learn to walk pretty I passed by I kept my eyes on my skates. much right away,” he said. “I saw an I skated over to the DJ and asked elephant birth on YouTube and ten him to stop playing house music. He said minutes after it came out, it could walk. he couldn’t, as per his contract with the Have you seen it?” roller disco. He said if I came any other “No,” I said. night of the week but Friday, they’d play With a quarter Owen bought me a hits from the 90’s. I said I’d come back for handful of red candy from a little machine, that. I looked over at Owen but he wasn’t We played cards with his parents in their kitchen and had sex in their basement. 8 Issue two in his chair. He came at me from the other “How many are you at?” I asked. direction with a new screwdriver in his “Fourteen,” he said. hand. “Wow,” I said. “You impress me.” “Are you flirting with the DJ?” he He went and got his fifteenth. The DJ asked. “It’s okay if you are.” played Billie Jean by MJ and I gave him the I said I wasn’t and asked for a sip of his thumbs up. I was a much more confident drink. skater when real and good music played. “Take the whole thing,” he said. “I’ll I wiggled my hips and looked back and get myself another.” Owen waved. He waved for me to come “You must get tired walking up and over. I skated down. down stairs all day,” I said, but he went “Hi,” I said, all smiles. anyway. “I have to take off,” he said. I didn’t want his drink. I hadn’t even “Are you too drunk?” I asked. wanted a sip in the first place because I was “I think so,” he said. only trying to be flirtatious. I gave it to the I kissed him goodbye. I used a little DJ. tongue and decided his breath was awful. I skated around the rink for another He was as good a kisser as ever. I made like half hour while Owen watched. At some I was going to stick around but as soon as point it was just me out there, and then he left I used the toilet and gave back the me and another lone girl wearing a tight skates. I forgot I’d left my mitts in there dress who wiggled her hips to the music. and as I drove home, my hands on the She was extremely graceful. I wondered steering wheel were so cold. My ankles if Owen watched her more than me. I really killed. I was also thirstier than I’d skated over to his chair and asked him for ever been before. a kiss. He kissed me on the mouth with no tongue. “I’m empty,” he said, shaking his glass. 9 Dragnet Magazine Talkin’ ‘bout my... medication by Susan Musgrave M y father The passion that is for some of us called it “being depression has been variously described as down the “a frenzy of paralysis,” “an active anguish,” dumps”; the way “a psychical neuralgia wholly unknown out was to pull your socks up and count your to healthy life.” A healthy person sees the blessings. Winston Churchill, followed glass half full; the depressive, who has the by “the black dog” all his life, drank to misfortune to see the world as it really is, drown his blues. Dodie Smith, the English sees the glass slipping from her hand. in dramatist, recommended noble deeds and In my case, trying to find a way out hot baths as the best mood stabilizers; of my depression has been a lifelong when D.H. Lawrence felt glum, he “left preoccupation. No counting of my off and made marmalade.” “The secret of blessings has ever served to banish it. being miserable is to have leisure to bother I cleaned my house, relentlessly, after about whether you are happy or not. The reading that physical exercise unleashed cure for it is occupation,” said George endorphins. I self-medicated, read self- Bernard Shaw. Andrew Solomon put his help books such as How to Live Well in the miserable leisure to good use by writing Afterlife. I tried geographical cures, hot a 1768-page depression handbook, The baths, making marmalade, having babies. Noonday Demon. “Depression,” he says, “is I especially tried crying. something to do.” “Concentrations of manganese have 10 Kristel Jax Dragnet Magazine been found in the brains of chronic a phase of feeling happy, though unlike depressives after their death,” I read, in “myself,” I quit taking Paxil. I got “myself ” an article on the health benefits of a good back, with a vengeance. First there were boohoo. “The lacrimal gland concentrates dizzy spells, surges that started out small and but quickly gained momentum, spiralling removes manganese. Crying, therefore, may stave off depression. outward to blast like a colourless fireworks When even crying failed to cheer me, I display inside my skull (the drug cartels call made an appointment to see a shrink. I had it “discontinuation syndrome”) followed to face the fact: life wasn’t for everyone. by days of electrical shock sensations that I planned to request a physician- zapped me between the ears. There was no assisted suicide to help me over the bumps. dark rain cloud even, but a gray drizzle of As I sat waiting in her office I noticed a emptiness, a bleaker shade of black. And poster on the wall—a dark rain cloud just as I was about to go back to bed and contrasted with a sunflower bursting from put a pillow over my face, I got a phone a Prozac pill. “Feel better than good,” the ad call from a chronically depressed friend in enthused. Another showed a mother and Toronto. The end, she said, was finally in child skipping together across a flawless sight. stretch of sand. Beneath the grainy photo, Her psychotherapist had received a a note scrawled in crayon, “Thanks, Paxil. fax from a University of Toronto research I got my mommy back.” team: they needed a suitable candidate on That was twelve years ago, the whom to perform experimental surgery beginning of my on-off love-hate affair for treatment-resistant depression. The with antidepressant drugs. They have procedure, called deep brain stimulation helped me through the sinkholes, but (which usually came with a price tag of ultimately my depression sees them as $40,000), involved planting a stimulator, competition, and doesn’t play to lose. “a Depression Switch,” near the brain’s Ten days ago, when I had gone through centre and zapping in electrical impulses 12 Issue two from a pacemaker implanted near the There are days when I like to curl up like a frozen prawn. heart. The operation would carry some risk, my friend explained (it was, after all, brain surgery, involving a brutal intrusion with only a local anaesthetic), and it might not work. “I recommended you,” she said. “What have you got to lose?” “You go first, you deserve to,” I insisted. Noble of me, I thought, seeing as they were only looking for one suitable guinea pig to lobotomize. The truth is, I didn’t want to limit my options. If the Depression Switch included an on-off function I might have considered having one installed. But there are days when I like to curl up like a frozen prawn; I don’t want to banish the blues forever from my brain. Just sometimes. So I can enjoy a good funeral, for instance, without getting depressed about not being the centre of attention. So I can laugh at my misfortunes, and cry if life gets better than good. But most of all I don’t want to stop seeing the world—for what it really is. 13 Dragnet Magazine Derby by Leslie Bank A ll the crabs stumble were hoisted in which hoods during which in the sidewalk cracks. drunken street parties. It’s South Korea. They’ve hurtled their We’re standing in Little Portugal, and he’s bodies onto the ground a walking billboard for Koreatown. from a waist-high bucket sitting in front The storeowner finally notices his of the Portuguese fish store. A dozen, a fleeing merchandise and runs outside. He’s hundred maybe. They scuffle south along screaming—grunting sounds, mostly, the the wet pavement; it’s the slowest downhill international language—first at the crabs, derby I’ve ever seen. They must be heading and then just at Matt. I’m a few feet away for the waterfront, totally unaware of and safe under the umbrella, but my hands the fact that there’ll be no ocean to greet are cold against its wooden handle. There’s them—just the lake, brown and choppy a portrait of the Virgin Mary in the store and lipped with cigarette butts. What a window, stained yellow from years of sun. prize. Matt is on the sidewalk, too. He’s She looks awful. “I have one!” crawling on both hands and both knees, I only managed to get in a few hours pawing at the loose crabs with puckered of sleep last night. I expected to cry when fingers. His pants are soaked in the worst I told him, but then I didn’t cry at all— spots. He’s wearing pale jeans, and a red only to wake up, still, somehow, with t-shirt under my black hoodie. White unsalvageable puffy eyes this morning. running shoes. Blue and red and black and Retributive puffiness, I guess. “I lost it!” white. What flag is that? I go back to the I look awful, too. A few inches below last World Cup, try to picture which flags Mary, the owner has taped up an equally 14 Issue two Illya Klymkiw 15 Dragnet Magazine yellowed photo of the Spanish showgirl caught one yet. He can’t stomach pain, Charo. She’s wearing sequins and holding isn’t built for this, but won’t give up on a guitar and her hair poofs out of the frame. it. He knows I’m watching. He probably She’s pouting rather than smiling, but she thinks that saving a single crab will save does look happy. At least somebody here everything. is happy. Coochie coochie, her famous When I told him last night that it wasn’t catchphrase, is scrawled in pen along the going to work, he didn’t have anything He’s screaming — grunting sounds, mostly, the international language — first at the crabs, and then just at Matt. bottom of the photo. “Annie, could you to say back. It was 1:46. I looked at the help please?” alarm clock instead of him. He continued The owner has already collected three saying nothing. At 2:03, he stood up from or four crabs and deposited them back the edge of my bed and started to pace, into the bucket but there are more than a presumably looking for something to few still heading for freedom. Matt hasn’t attack in rage. He ended up kicking at my 16 Issue two small wool rug. The edge of the rug lifted somehow. He asked me if I had anything slowly and then folded in on itself. It was for him to wear for the rain. I pulled a the most violence he could muster. He sat sweatshirt off the coat hook and lobbed it back down. He asked me if he had done to him. He was smiling. I worried that we something wrong. I told him no, of course might’ve just dream-broke up. not. He asked me if we could try to work “Annie! Annie!” Through the through it. I told him no, probably not. I dampness I can see Matt standing on two told him I was sure about this, but didn’t feet again. He’s smiling, waving proudly admit I had always been unsure about him. like the flag of South Korea, holding a He asked me if he could spend the night fat crab above his head. Its tiny legs are since it was already late. I told him no. He treading the air in slow motion. It’s the last asked for the couch, at least? I told him crab to be saved from freedom and brought sure, but only because the windowpanes back to captivity. That means it’s likely the told me it was raining out. fattest and the dumbest of the bunch, but The owner is kicking at Matt’s heels, he pumps it up and down like a trophy all pushing him out of the way of two the same. I mock clap around the handle customers trying to enter the store. of the umbrella. He places the crab back “Droga! Droga!” I have no idea what word inside the bucket and shuffles up to me in this equates to in English. I picture Charo wet denim. We resume the slippery walk saying it like she says her catchphrase, uphill to the subway station. swaying her hips and giggling. I half- “See? I did it.” expected Matt to be gone when I woke I can’t see his expression for the cave up, but I found him sitting cross-legged on of black fleece surrounding his face. He my couch. He asked me if I had any food can’t see mine for the black dome of the for breakfast, knowing full well I was out umbrella. We keep walking toward the of groceries. I told him I’d take him out spot where the street splits apart. to eat; I had to get him out of the house 17 Dragnet Magazine Cheesy kind of love by Caitlin Stall-Paquet A dam sharpened his slightly. In a few days, the heart would have knife slowly. He looked ripened totally, disappearing into cream, at his reflection in the leaving no sign of its existence. He loved polished, impenetrable this moment just before above all. He took steel and saw the deep lines in his forehead, a second to close his eyes and breathe in forged by her absence. He lifted the blade the sour, milky smell before wrapping to the height of his shoulder and then the wheel’s two pieces in cellophane and brought it down swiftly and hard, slicing putting them back into the fridge. his target with expert accuracy. He couldn’t help but think of her. The Riopelle triple cream brie lay Penny. Dear, sweet, firm, Penny. A Gouda there on the sterilized counter split down woman if there ever was one. Her words the middle, right through its heart. As echoed in his mind, bouncing from one he observed the thin layer of its still-firm side of his skull to the other like a Babybel centre surrounded by the ripe, running on the loose. “Oh Penny, why did you have cream wrapped still in the velvety-soft to Manche-go?” he muttered to himself white rind, only one word escaped Adam’s leaning his forehead on the fridge’s cool bow-shaped lips: Perfection. He uttered glass, all alone in his cheese shop. the word as a whisper to be heard by a “I just can’t do this anymore. I can lover’s tender ear. A chill of pleasure ran see it in your eyes. When you look at me, through his body, making his knees quiver you’re looking through me. Your heart is 18 Jackie Timpener 19 Andrew Hammerand Dragnet Magazine always back there, in that bloody shop.” flinging the piece of cheese across the “That’s nonsense!” room, splattering it across the painting on “You’re doing it right now; I can see the opposite wall: an enlarged section of your eyes drifting towards the fridge!” She the table on the far right side of The Last got up, flung open the refrigerator door, Supper. Even Jesus loved cheese, Adam grabbed the Stilton blue from the cheese had told Penny triumphantly before asking drawer and walked towards the window. her if the painting was hanging up straight. “No, don’t you dare! That’s a twenty- She’d muttered that she was pretty sure year-old vintage port’s wet dream!” Adam that was bread, but he’d ignored her. exclaimed, bouncing up from the couch The colour drained from his cheeks as and quickly putting himself between the the blue ran down the canvas. He fought cheese and the window. the urge to run over and scrape it off into a “Everything has changed, don’t you Tupperware. realize?” Penny cried out, suddenly “Nothing’s changed.” “I can’t brie-lieve you’re leaving me...” 20 Issue two “Everything’s changed!” ago. He hadn’t seen her since. “What changed?” The shop’s bell rang. He looked up and “I can’t deal with the change.” a tall blonde in a velvety white sweater was “WHAT CHANGED?” he shouted. walking towards him at the soft cheese “You tried to change your name to counter. She bent over, looked into the Edam!” fridge and gasped. “It’s a completely legitimate name.” “Perfection. Look at that Riopelle!” “For a cheese, it is! But that was just the she exclaimed, five long fingers flying to beginning. The only time you even notice her soft, round breasts. “It’s straight out of me anymore is if I dab bits of Camembert my dreams. Ah! There is still just the hint behind my ears.” of a heart. Can you imagine what it will He shuddered. “I love it when you do be like in two days? I’ll take a whole half.” that.” Adam’s heart started pounding. “Eating Brie de Meaux off my nipples “I just sliced it open 15 minutes ago.” is one thing, but it isn’t even enough Their eyes locked. “I pressed one finger anymore and I don’t want to know what’s lightly on the top of the wheel and I just next!” knew.” Her eyes grew dewy like a doe in a “It was Martin-Collet.” spring meadow after a long winter. “WHATEVER! We’re through. I’m “I Cheddar at the thought,” she replied, moving in with Hannah until I find a new smiling wider than the half-wheel he held place.” in his hands. “I can’t brie-lieve you’re leaving me all They were married a month later. The provolone.” It was too late; the words were enlarged section of The Last Supper now out of his mouth before he could control hangs over their bed. himself. She glared at him, went into their five-year-old-Cheddar-coloured bedroom and left with her suitcase. That was a week 21 Dragnet Magazine Speculations by Andy Sinclair I was the kid parents wanted Now moan and tell me you want it. their kids to hang around and I wouldn’t play along with that, of with Eamon Sweeney it was course. But I wouldn’t always snort and no exception. We’d stay out push him away immediately. Sometimes late, whipping up and down Lakeside I’d be still and wait for him to stop, full or smoking dope on the ski hill and his boner under my tight underwear. mother would never question anything. There was no context for this. There I wasn’t inherently better behaved than was no psychologist interpreting over my anyone else—just more of a chickenshit. shoulder that Eamon was experimenting I was caught up in Eamon’s audacity. with his own power. It was just me, “You’re too good,” he’d tell me. “Say fuck.” enthralled and only knowing enough to “Fuck.” not let on. “Oooh, yeah. I like it when you say I was over at the Sweeneys’ place all the time. Eamon’s father was never there He’d sidle up behind me in the locker but Mrs. Sweeney would make dinner for room after soccer practice and push his us and his sister Jenny. Sometimes I’d be crotch into my ass, dry-humping me while there even when Eamon wasn’t. They had his newly muscled arms wrapped around a jet-black Isuzu Rodeo with beige leather my chest. Whispering stories about the seats, and Mrs. Sweeney would send me girls he was banging. You do it like this, on errands with it. Then she’d make coffee from behind. It feels so good. I wonder why and we’d sit and tell jokes and she’d tell you haven’t started. me about the guys she dated before she 22 Stephanie Coffey that.” got married. Her favourite one dumped retreated to the kitchen to make toast. her and moved to Toronto and worked I got down on the creamy Berber carpet at Queen’s Park for a while. I told her he and did the moves. must have regretted letting her go. “Nice of you to join me,” she breathed “Oh, I guess. I can only imagine what out, between reps. “Why are people so became of him.” afraid to sweat?” I was just getting into working out then and Mrs. Sweeney was into Jane Fonda. * Eamon and I were playing cribbage in the living room one day when Mrs. Sweeney I picked up Eamon on graduation walked in wearing her pink leotard. She night, before we went to get our dates. pushed in her tape and started exercising. His dad was home from work to mark the Inhale up … and down. Warm up those occasion and he handed each of us a Bud. arms! I was wearing my dead grandfather’s ill- “Mom! Gross!” said Eamon, and he fitting tux. My parents instilled me with 23 Andrew Hammerand Dragnet Magazine love and comfort and not a whit of sartorial sophistication. Mrs. Sweeney must have I wasn’t inherently better behaved t h a n anyone else—just more of a chickens h i t . noticed my white athletic socks. She took pictures of me and Eamon arm-in-arm on the couch, drinking beer. “What a couple of handsome men,” she said. She paused as she squinted into the viewer. “I bet you two will break some hearts tonight.” We headed off to the Best Western. The tickets cost twenty-five dollars and included, preposterously, lime sorbet after the soup. This is what must have happened after we left Eamon’s house: Mrs. Sweeney concluded that I simply could not spend my graduation night wearing gym socks. (She was the type of woman who bought a new Linda Lundstrom coat every winter and frosted her hair at the most expensive salon in town.) She raided her husband’s dresser for some black dress socks and drove over to the hotel with Jenny. I remember Jenny coming into the banquet hall and looking around, taking everything in. She was fourteen. She smiled and waved me over. 24 Issue two “My mom wanted you to wear these.” Sweeney was intelligent. She was a nurse I wasn’t embarrassed because I was because that had been the most prestigious so used to being taken care of. I stepped profession available to her. What had she into the lobby and took off my shoes and been thinking? She treated herself to a changed while Mrs. Sweeney waited in the very occasional cigarette, so I suppose she car. might have been sitting there in a cloud After the dance we went to a party at of smoke. Was she remembering her own Marnie Rodgers’s big house on the water, high school dances? I don’t think she had a where we experienced the usual drunken happy marriage. Not that I paid attention. shenanigans. I woke up in a twin bed, I was too focussed on Eamon. Eamon curled up in a ball on the floor I’ve never been able to figure why beside me. He’d gotten so wasted the she felt so compelled to bring me those night before that he’d confessed to being socks. Possibly it was some maternal urge. a virgin. Perhaps she just saw another human being We had the same crappy house painting in need of help. In any case, she must have jobs that summer and continued to hang deduced that I lusted after her son. After around together. But Mrs. Sweeney had that night her narrow eyes would scrunch turned. Now she sounded irritated when up with suspicion whenever she’d ask if I I’d telephone for Eamon. And she stopped was dating a special girl yet. She’d become asking me to stay for dinner and overnight, a sleuth. She worried like any mother. She though this went on anyway because looked after herself and exercised and had Eamon didn’t care what overtures she did a tight, fit body but even in her mid-forties or didn’t make. she was developing deep and terrible Sometimes I think about her waiting crows’ feet. Maybe from all that slit-eyed that night in her car, fingernails maybe guesswork. making soft clicks on the steering wheel as she watched out for for Jenny. Mrs. 25 Dragnet Magazine Little Accidents by Laura Ashworth 1 When you love someone I moved the uncomfortable plastic chair sometimes all you can do is keep that I’d slept in closer to her. “But Mom, them breathing. I know this for the smell alone would—” a fact. I’ve resuscitated my own “I have a cold. My nose is all stuffed mother three times. I took CPR classes up.” She grabbed a tissue and blew her and everything because over the course nose—just in case I didn’t believe her. My of my sixteen years my mother has oops hand was balled up in a fist on her hospital almost died more times than I can count bed and she spread her hand over mine. on my two unnaturally large hands. I have Her skin felt like cold plastic. I unclenched as much medical training as a sixteen year my fist because this is something Mom’s old girl can possibly have. I’m a survivor’s good at, getting me to stop fighting for guide to suicide prevention. My social life things. She noticed blue ink on my palm. is lacking. “I love you,” she said. “Who wrote that?” Mom calls these near death My phone vibrated from my back jean experiences, these suicide attempts, pocket. It was probably my boyfriend. little accidents. Her latest little accident He’s the one who drew the sloppy heart involved cleaning products. “I was all over my life line earlier today when I cleaning,” she said from her hospital bed, received the pink slip at lunch that said: an IV in her arm. “And I guess I confused come to the hospital immediately. “James cup of Windex with my iced tea.” did,” I replied. My mother sucks at making iced tea “Is he still coming over for dinner but it definitely doesn’t taste like Windex. Saturday?” she asked. Her voice sounded 26 Elisa Cullingham Stephanie Coffey Dragnet Magazine raw. Like someone had put a tube down opener stained, the yellow carpet covered her throat and pumped her stomach, in bills, my soccer ball still by the front door, which they had. I hate thinking about so I kicked it. “There goes Mrs. Suicide,” I Mom’s almost lifeless body being carried tried to say when the paramedics arrived. away by EMTs who know her real name But it wasn’t funny. but still call her “Mrs. Suicide” instead. It and walked through the door after soccer 2 tryouts. She was sitting on the couch and somewhere. I was the one who found her I wasn’t paying attention because she was the time before this, a dull pulse on the taking her meds that year and felt better. bathroom floor. When I showed up at the I said, “Hey Mom, I did it. I made the hospital Dad sat in a red, plastic chair with vars—” and that’s when I noticed Mom his chin resting against his chest. “How slumped over on the plaid couch, deep long will they keep her this time?” I asked. cuts from her elbows to her wrists: a letter “I’m guessing a couple weeks.” He must be nice to have that kind of distance Dad found her this last when mom’s in front of you maybe-dying, time. It’s like we took turns. must be nice to be able to crack a joke. I Switched off discovering tried to joke about it once. I was fourteen mom’s little accidents, some cosmic joke, some God laughing My mother sucks at making iced tea but it definitely doesn’t taste like Windex. 28 Issue two looked past me, down the hallway. “Here hovered below his mouth like a spaceship, he is.” Her psychiatrist’s face appeared and I thought about travel. expressionless. I, on the other hand, cried “How did your English exam go?” Dad my blue-like-Mom’s-eyes out. asked. My dad’s an English professor at a “So I take it she’s off her meds again?” local community college. His obsessions he said. I didn’t like his tone. Dad and I did are Fitzgerald and keeping mom alive. everything we could to keep her medicated. “It went okay. Are you done with this?” We bought her a pill box with all the days I took his plate and finished the spaghetti. of the week and double-checked every “You know me though, I’m much better at time she took one. I manned Monday- math.” Wednesday. Dad held down Thursday- Dad laughed. It’d been awhile since I’d Sunday. “Open your mouth, Mom,” I’d say, heard him laugh. “I don’t know where you “and let me check.” got that math brain of yours from,” he said. It’s only a matter of time before one of But that was a lie. He did know. Mom her little accidents does the job. Dad and is a math whiz. Used to teach math when I both know this. We talked about this she could function. “Maybe you were certainty at the hospital once. I said, “I just adopted,” he said, and sounded hopeful. don’t want to be the one to find her.” Dad But of course I wasn’t. didn’t reply. He looked down at his coffee Wouldn’t he know that? Yes. I guess and stirred the black liquid with a spoon. he was trying to joke. But he’s no good “Sometimes I wish she would just get it at telling jokes. His inflections are always over with,” I continued. “I know that’s off. And when he says, “Maybe you were wrong of me. But sometimes I really do, adopted,” it sounds like he’s just wishing Dad.” for this, praying I’m not like mom. Hoping “I don’t know,” he said, and twirled that something inside me won’t shift and some hospital-style spaghetti around his that I won’t pick up a cup of Windex one fork. He didn’t eat much. The fork just day and drink it. 29 Dragnet Magazine You, Green Sweater with Taped Glasses Me, Readhead Busted for Smoking by Sarah Kendall Y ou, Green Sweater “You should really clean your screen with Taped Glasses. Me, more often. Lots of people have that Redhead sweater.” Busted for Smoking. Was it just me, “What about the glasses?” or were you about to defend me from the “So?” bald man? I would have fixed your glasses “I had to use scotch tape. They took for free. Same time, same place next week? away my key to the supply closet, so I had to use whatever I had at my desk.” * “You can’t just buy your own stuff? You have to steal from work?” “So what?” “That’s not the point.” “That’s totally me.” “Post-its are like, what, a dollar?” “What?” “Try three.” “Right here.” “No shit?” “No, it’s not.” “How many people are on the train “You didn’t even look.” with taped glasses?” “Where?” “Right there.” * 30 Issue two Jackie Timpener 31 Andrew Hammerand Dragnet Magazine “Tall, skim almond latte for Jack.” “What?” “Can you grab it?” “You drink the girliest shit.” * “There’s gotta be a link somewhere, “Grande Americano for Ben.” right?” “Right there – Reply to Post. Pack up “Thanks, Jeannine. It’s kitty-corner— though, we’re gonna be late.” when you’re sitting diagonally across from “This girl had the most beautiful hair. I someone.” can’t believe this.” “Whatever—the point is this girl “Why was she smoking?” noticed me enough to post this message.” “I dunno. She was soaked and her “Since when do you read Missed bangs kept dripping on her cigarette. It Connections?” wasn’t really burned down, so I guess she’d “I check it out sometimes for writing just lit it.” prompts.” “You have an oddly accurate memory “Pass me a Splenda. So, what for random strangers on the metro.” happened with the bald guy? He snap at “You’d remember this girl. Her cheeks your woman?” were definitely red and her makeup was “He got really pissed and kept yelling running, but she had these intense blue at her about his emphysema until she got eyes. She kept cradling her backpack like it off at the next stop.” was a little kid she was protecting.” “Well, he didn’t pay his $1.50 to breathe “This was yesterday?” cigarette smoke—for that you only get the “I can’t believe this. I was sitting catty- belligerent homeless woman who invades corner from her and I didn’t say one your personal space and smells like piss.” freakin’ word.” “I’m pretty sure she’d just been crying, “It’s kitty-corner.” though. Who yells at a crying girl?” 32 Issue two “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.” them fixed for free. Better yet, you should “I gotta talk to her.” get a new pair. I’m sure he can get you a “It says right there, same time, same discount.” place next week.” “No, I can’t, that’s how she’s gonna “You think I remember the exact time recognize me.” I got on the metro at Woodley Park?” “You can’t walk around like that.” “I’m taped glasses.” * “Wear the green sweater again.” “I’m not—I’m not gonna wear the “Thank you, sir.” green sweater again.” “You’re welcome. God damn, it’s cold “Fine with me, look like an idiot the out here.” rest of the week.” “I can’t believe she noticed me.” “I think I’m gonna skip the show, too. “Jack, get a grip. You really gotta get I wanna go back to my place and draft out more. I told you Jasmine asked me for something.” your email, right?” “You’re blowing me off again.” “She’s too political, and she’s got those “I just wanna think about this.” really thin eyebrows that make her look “Fine, but the next time Dolores calls angry all the time.” you a flake I’m not defending you.” “7th and D, please.” “That’s fair.” * “You got it.” “Shit – I can’t go.” “Come on, I told you we’ll walk to my dad’s office before the show and get 33 Dragnet Magazine A Waqui Way of Knowledge by Amanda Abdelhadi M y editor Practically devoid of social graces, he recently phoned wasted no time spreading his own gospel. with complaints “Well, I am here to illuminate you once about my more, Amanda. Also I don’t mean to treat irregular writing schedule. I was unsure you like a waitress, but could you make me how to explain that my absence from the a cup of coffee?” paper was due to a week-long vision quest, Once I had fixed his order, he settled during which I was visited by my ‘spirit pleasantly in my armchair while I took animal.’ My spirit animal is a Colombian the seat opposite him. Though my spirit performance artist and documentary animal has been visiting me for a few filmmaker, based in Toronto, whose months now, he tells me that we have schedule is very inflexible so I have to take not yet reached the heights of ecstatic what I can get when it comes to journeys revelation. As such, every cigar-filled visit of self-discovery. brings fresh anticipation of clairvoyance He materialized late one evening in and an increasing list of confectionary a cloud of cigar smoke, hat askew, arms requisites. full of Super 8mm film, a TTC token in The silence grew longer as my his teeth, and an unread poem tucked spirit animal sipped his beverage while under his belt like a sword. He looked as gazing about the living room. The blood masterful as a pirate. pounded in my temples as I waited for 34 Issue two Elisa Cullingham 35 Dragnet Magazine him to initiate our transcendental journey. natural guide in matters of enlightenment. It always begins with his fresh obliquity of But the North American does not. He is expression. slow, unwilling, and special. The North He started: “If the hardware store were American must walk into these hardware closed, could the wise man tell a handsaw stores and be shown how tools work from a hack?” through a ‘demonstrative display.’ In each Though my animal spirit has phrased store there is a wall with these tools, pre- this as a question, I know better than to assembled, hanging and waiting to be tried take this as an invitation to speak. We so that our North American can learn. The found out early on in our meetings that my wall boasts opportunities to push with a premature replies interrupt the flow of his handle, pull with a handle, and twist with argument, and always make these opening a handle. The North American gravely epigrams seem less profound. pushes, pulls, and twists.” I nodded. “The modern North American could “What this means,” he continued, not, could not tell a handsaw from a hack,” “is far greater than you can fathom. This he answered. “They are an ignorant people demonstrative display is the last sacrifice and need to be educated in tools and tool on the altar of human fallibility, the usage by the very providers of these items. last indication that the modern North They do not know how to effectively American can never quite trust the handle a hammer, screwdriver, or power- cosmos, and that he dimly suspects that drill until they have been lectured to by some day, in the maze of well-regulated the sales assistants in hardware stores. By electric-powered drills or tools, something comparison, the Colombian is a strong, will go completely crazy—something intuitive master of crafts—he fashions his awful will rebound and strike him in the own tools out of other tools, tools he has face, or the saw will come tearing through made or inherited from the ancestor spirits. his garage door, mowing down his faithful, The Colombian knows; this is why he is a meek family.” 36 Elisa Cullingham Issue two My eyes widened at the imaginary suggested, “and say that the Colombian scene that he had conjured before me, just might be more naturally suited to hard a tableau of horror and agony evocative labour?” of Picasso’s Guernica. Meanwhile my “That,” he replied, “is a common spirit animal, nursing his cigar, seemed misconception.” The spirit paused long pleased—both with my rapture and his enough to notice that his coffee cup was own narrative. now empty, and he tapped its rim a few “Could we take the matter further,” I times as a signal. I fetched the coffee 37 Dragnet Magazine pot from the kitchen and poured him a I conceded that he was, in fact, the refill. He continued: “The Colombian is spirit animal apparition. a spiritual creature rather than an earthly “You have no notion of the amazing being.” wonder and beatific magnitude of this “I’m sure there are spiritual North paradise. Holy spirits, holier than I, mingle Americans too,” I said. “None that have in awesome radiance across verdant tasted the plateaus, occasionally showered in a otherworldly delights of paradise,” he kaleidoscopic rain that never gives you a replied. head cold. I swim all day with fish and lie “You mean the paradise that I’m in the grass with beautiful women who supposed to be reaching with these vision- feed me fruit. It is beyond comparison, quests?” I asked, slightly irritated. beyond comprehension. When I’m not “The paradise that you will reach once here, visiting you in this city, I am in that we have made sufficient advancement in paradise.” your enlightenment,” he retorted. “Which After this impassioned speech, I at the moment looks to require several couldn’t help but agree that it did sound meetings yet.” like a pretty wonderful place, and worth “I’m sorry, spirit. It just seems a the many trips to replenish my coffee little futile when you make remarks like cupboard. However, one small thing that. How can I even be certain that this bothered me. I asked my spirit animal what paradise exists?” there was about Toronto, what mysterious “Of course it exists!” he cried. “I can property, that had lured him back from the heaven that was the Putumaja. give you the exact geographic coordinates if you want, but for now imagine something He thought for a minute. Then he said, like the Colombian Amazon. Besides, how “In Toronto, you can buy things so late at can you doubt me? Which one of us is the night.” After that, the spirit was off. spirit animal apparition?” 38 Elisa Cullingham Dragnet Magazine Soap Opera digest by K.A. Laity T itmuss Street: Babs and Henry finally agree to give the kitchen a much needed makeover while ignoring Frederick’s pleas for help from under the floorboards. Felix, fretful over his creeping baldness, shaves the cat in a desperate attempt at camouflage. Hilda, however, remains unimpressed and leaves the gallery opening with Carlo, who intimates to Felix that he will be painting Hilda later (without a canvas). Marnie waits. ‘Round Uxbridge: Penelope and Ralph continue their affair, although she finds there is too much friction between them and starts fantasizing about Teddy’s gentle ways. Over lunch she confides to Sarah that she will ask Ralph to change from leather restraints to silk, but Sarah conceals that she, too, is sleeping with 40 Issue two Ralph and has already claimed the silk. Pauline drowns her sorrows in bitter, but they prove able to float. She conveys her myriad disappointments to Ralph over dinner but finds her brother distracted and instead turns to Teddy, who reveals that he is gay and has fallen for her brother. Ralph calls Sylvia suggesting an evening of Nutella and spoons. Netherwood End: Because he is unable to hide his accounting irregularities, Peter avoids meeting with Linda. He fears she will fire him, unaware that she is working to bring the company to bankruptcy Stephanie Coffey because Old Netherwood ruined her father. Patsy discovers the second set of books and forces Peter to acquiesce to her soft toy fetish. Bertram spots the two of them together at Hamleys and immediate files for divorce. A clerk in the store uses his mobile to record their inappropriate 41 Dragnet Magazine Jeremy Hanson-Finger encounter with an elephant puppet and This act of surreptitious and closely puts it online, although it is dismissed as confined abandon seems the perfect pick- a hoax by everyone but the Russian mafia me-up for the milliner until the constables who set in motion an ambitious scheme to arrive. The consequent headlines help take over the chain. Caroline distract Kevin from thinking about her pregnancy and its unlikelihood Frithville Five: Spurned by Rodrigo, while she concocts a plausible medical Millicent heads to Harvey Nichols for a excuse. Bunny cleans. Lawrence, in a fit shopping orgy only to run into the Babcock of pique, shoots his father, who twins who convince her to pleasure them complains bitterly about the ungrateful in the intimate apparel fitting room. youth of today. 42 Issue two Witch Creek C by Midge Raymond arrie Smith is watching the news, wondering whether she’ll have to evacuate. October 19 at 4 p.m. Tina Hodges – The fire is still miles away. Soooo glad I live on the coast. Barbra Jensen – Me too. Carrie, I’m worried about you.Stay near the phone. Carrie is listening to Johnny Cash: Burning Ring of Fire. October 19 at 8 p.m. Tina – Don’t torture yourself. Carrie – It was Bobby’s favorite song. Must’ve played it a million times over the last ten years. You’d think he’d call to check on us. Tina – Don’t get your hopes up. This is why you joined the support group, right?! Carrie – Yeah, yeah. Barbra is watching the news. Witch Creek Fire a “serious concern.” If you’re anywhere near, get off Facebook and turn on your television! October 19 at 9:20 p.m. Carrie – Multitasking: watching news, packing, updating FB status. Barbra – How do you decide what to pack?! Carrie – Packing: kids’ favorite things, baby photos, Xanax. Not packing: wedding album. Barbra – LOL. Guest room is all yours if you’re evacuated. Carrie – Thanks sweetie. Keep you posted. 43 Eleanor Bennett Dragnet Magazine Carrie is listening to Billy Joel: We Didn’t Start the Fire. October 19 at 10:22 p.m. Carrie is still awake. Listening to Grateful Dead: Fire on the Mountain. October 19 at 11:15 p.m. Tina – Did the asshole call? Carrie – Not yet. Tina – Don’t wait up. Try to get some sleep. Carrie – W/out alcohol? I’ll try. Carrie is packing. Just got a Reverse 911 call for possible evacuations. October 19 at 11:48 p.m. Carrie fell asleep on couch and awoke to fireman banging on door. At motel in Solana Beach. Facebook mobile. October 20 at 4:37 a.m. Carrie is listening to the Talking Heads: Burning Down the House. October 20 at 6:23 a.m. View all 18 comments Tina – OMG why didn’t you call me? I’m calling you right now. Tina just saw Carrie and kids at motel. Their house is right near the Witch Creek fire. Send prayers, everyone! October 20 at 1:35 p.m. View all 22 comments Pamela Jones – We’re well out of the danger zone if anyone needs a place to stay. Carrie wants to thank everyone for messages and prayers. October 21 at 8:16 a.m. View all 17 comments Barbra – I’m fixing up the spare room right now. I’ll call you later. 46 Issue two Pamela – I’m so sorry to hear about your house. Anything we can do? Tina is at Target, shopping for Carrie. Feel free to send donations—they have lost everything! Facebook mobile. October 21 at 3:14 p.m. View all 5 comments Pamela – Tina that’s so sweet! (So glad I met you at Carrie’s party!) I can buy stuff too, or write you a cheque. Tina – Thanks, Pam. A cheque would be great. Carrie is still on hold with her insurance company. 42 minutes and counting. October 22 at 9:51 a.m. View all 16 comments Pamela – I have photos from your birthday party, if that helps with inventory. Carrie – Yeah, must replace every margarita glass! LOL. Seriously, thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you guys. Tina is collecting donations. Please help. Cash is best. October 22 at 11:30 a.m. Carrie is amazed by the support from family and friends. October 22 at 1:25 p.m. View all 12 comments Tina – I can’t believe the asshole finally called. Carrie – He’s been great. Like the guy I married. Tina – Beware!! Carrie – I know, they don’t cover Reconciliation in group, do they? LOL. Tina – I’m serious. Don’t trust him!!! His type goes after the weak and vulnerable. 47 Dragnet Magazine Barbra is making dinner for Carrie and the kids. October 23 at 5:04 p.m. Tina – Tell them hi for me! Did she get my voice mail? Carrie is grateful to her ex for the support. Springsteen: I’m on Fire. October 26 at 12:46 p.m. View all 5 comments Pamela – Carrie, I’m so happy for you and Bobby. Sometimes these things happen for a reason. Tina – WTF??? Carrie, call me! Carrie is listening to U2: The Unforgettable Fire. October 26 at 8:19 p.m. Tina has posted a photo album. October 27 at 8:10 a.m. Carrie’s house from the front The pool, half the water evaporated Carrie’s bedroom, what’s left of it Tina can’t see Carrie’s profile page. Anyone else having problems with FB? October 27 at 9:34 p.m. Carrie is grateful for: her friends, her children, Bobby, and the rain. October 29 at 10:13 a.m. Barbra is wondering if there’s any such thing as a “controlled burn.” October 31 at 8:07 p.m. Tina still can’t see Carrie’s page. I hate Facebook. October 31 at 10:10 p.m. 48 Issue two Barbra is watching the weather forecast: more rain! November 2, 11:30 a.m. 5 people like this Pamela – Thank god. Tina – Watch out for mudslides. Tina would appreciate hearing from Carrie at some point. Especially after helping her when she had NOTHING but the clothes on her back. November 4, 2:10 p.m. Barbra – You might want to take down those photos you posted of Carrie’s house. Carrie has changed her relationship status to It’s Complicated. November 5, 11:36 p.m. Tina can’t access Pam’s page either. Your message is loud and clear people. November 8, 10:08 p.m. Tina has posted a photo album. November 9 at 3:10 a.m. The view of the Witch Creek burn area Burned-out street, Carrie’s lot on the left Carrie is starting over. Realizing it’s not as bad as it sounds. November 10, 9:04 a.m. View all 8 comments Pamela – You go, girl. Barbra is eager for the smoke to clear and the ashes to stop falling from the sky. November 12, 7:02 a.m. Carrie is listening to James Taylor: Fire and Rain. November 13, 11:13 p.m. 49 Dragnet Magazine His Children by Nick Ripatrazone F our girls in dresses. eyes. He shook my hand but I held it a Wrapped, tied in the moment too long. I was always told that back like a scout’s knot. was the sign of being something else. He Waists cinched, bottle- shook it off, or so I thought. I told my mouth ovals. mother. Not that I held his hand. Not that I Hips wide. wanted Alison for all she was worth, which Cheeks empurpled. was a saying my father had, something he In catoptric succession. said to a man who was only at our house They move and sit, talk and smile, all once but seemed to agree with my father in deliberate gestures as if their bodies about women. I told my mother that, for were gifts. whatever reason, I watched Dr. Ford’s Their hearts bows. hand as it traveled. In pocket, out of Their eyes glitter. pocket. Around the back of his neck, onto I have gotten closer, though. Four the linoleum counter. Back into pocket, days after my birthday. 1974. All of them shifting his junk behind the counter, as if in a row, black shoe-heels arranged ruler- I could not see. straight. I know their cerise cheeks. Alison Alison followed me, or the idea of was her name. It was her whose face was me, to where the radishes raddled around different. a dead trunk. She flattened her dress I told her as much. against her thighs. I cannot, even to this When Dr. Ford came home he palmed day, remember the names of her fucking their cheeks and the shake ruffled their sisters. I had a book of my mother’s of old 50 Kristel Jax Dragnet Magazine Scottish names and I set the big book on mother’s not thin lips, her father’s lack of my lap, heavy on my crotch. I spoke most lips beneath his tweed beard, or if all the of the names and none of them sounded screams in the world melded for a moment, familiar to my tongue. Then I realized directed at me and my intentions. I had that I would have had no reason to say none. their names; the only one out of the four I I ran. This was her property but soon wanted was Alison. enough all properties end and I was on an My father, talking to that same man, unmarked trail that could have belonged said an attraction to one sister bleeds to an abandoned orchard because the Alison or the followed idea of me, me... into another. He said it doesn’t matter dwarf trees slouched yet their trunks if the other sisters are even attractive. maintained a certain row. I was free, ready They can be as ugly as oak wilt. All sisters to present any oblations to Christ that I share something, some dip or lean of a could manage. My brother had gotten a mouth, the shape of eyes. Sometimes I tattoo of the feet of Jesus at the base of his walked across the row of the four of them neck and my mother did not scream, she and stared but none of them looked like merely sat down and asked, why feet? Alison. The one on the end had maculated Why feet? cheeks. Even if I shut my eyes she would Why four daughters that look so alike, never be Alison. yet so different from their parents? After she flattened her dress I put my Why answer these questions when the hand beneath and I’m not sure where answer is under that dress? § the scream came from: her thin lips, her 52 Issue two The Whole Sick CREW Amanda Abdelhadi has written for art from High River, Alberta, who recently galleries, dabbled in theatre and stand-up graduated from the University of Victoria. comedy, and appeared in the Houseband http://www.myspace.com/172323484 Reading Series and CKCU’s Literary MA in Art History at the University of is Toronto and spends her free time writing http://stephaniecoffeyphotography.com being to Coffey Being like mean Stephanie Landscapes. Now she’s completing her mean to a rainbow. flattering biographies for visual artists. Her website badcritic.ca is a collection of her Andrew Hammerand is a photographic- essays about her strange experiences in the based artist, and was born in the suburbs of fine art community. Chicago, Illinois. Andrew received his BFA Leslie Bank is a recent graduate of the University of Guelph’s MFA in Creative Writing. She is currently at work on a novel and training for a marathon, which are kind of the same thing. She lives in Toronto. Eleanor Leonne Bennett is an amateur photographer and artist who has won contests with National Geographic, The Woodland Trust, The World Photography Organisation, Papworth Trust, Winston’s Wish and Nature’s Best Photography. She has had her photographs published in exhibitions and magazines across the world. eleanorleonnebennett.zenfolio.com Elisa Cullingham is an artist and art historian 53 Dragnet Magazine in fine art photography from Arizona State things less and other things more (your help is University in 2008 and currently lives and appreciated); she plays in Toronto tweenoise works in Mesa, AZ. His photographic work band Alpha Couple, DJs, takes photos, draws has been exhibited in various juried and sometimes, and obsessively curates while group exhibitions, and most recently he was a claiming she’s “mostly a writer.” She is also co-curator of the traveling exhibition, “South your haut, snooty barista, so please tip. Phoenix through the Eyes of Youth.” Illya Klymkiw is not only an illustrator but Sarah Kendall is a graduate student in the also a filmmaker. He is currently working on Master of Arts in Fiction program at Johns a postmodern detective short titled Furstenau Hopkins University. A short story of hers was Mysteries featured in an anthology published by Writer’s com). In his spare time, Illya enjoys Lair Books in 2007. As an undergraduate, casually giving you the impression he she studied short story and poetry writing has a yacht and a chalet somewhere. (http://furstenaumysteries. under the guidance of Madison Smartt Bell, Elizabeth Spires, and Jonathan Jackson. A K. A. Laity writes so much that she had 2006 intern at The Writer’s Center, she was to create some pseudonyms to keep her an assistant editor for the Fall/Winter 2006 colleagues from thoughts of murder. A edition of Poet Lore. tenured medievalist at a small liberal arts college, she mostly tries to find ways to avoid Roxanne Ignatius graduated from York meetings in order to write more. Find her on University’s visual arts program in 2005. Facebook or follow her on Twitter to hear She has since produced gig posters for the trenchant analyses and utter nonsense. Polaris Music Prize and local music nights Silent Shout and No Shame, and artwork for Susan Musgrave has been labelled everything Basia Bulat and the Rural Alberta Advantage, from eco-feminist to anti-feminist, from among others. Roxanne is also a regular stand-up comedian to poet of doom and contributor to Torontoist.com. In her spare gloom, from social and political commentator time she enjoys sewing psychedelic quilts and to wild sea-witch of Canada’s northwest coast. listening to evil dance music. She has published more than 24 books and been short-listed for the Governor General’s Kristel Jax should be encouraged to do some Award four times. 54 Issue two poems. His writing has appeared in Esquire, The Kenyon Review, West Branch, The Mississippi Review and Beloit Fiction Journal. Andy Sinclair’s short fiction has appeared in fab, The Moose & Pussy, and The United Church Observer, as well as in the inaugural issue of Dragnet. His hosiery of choice is of the hunting variety. firstname.lastname@example.org Caitlin Stall-Paquet is a recent graduate of Concordia’s english literature and creative writing program. She has been published in Headlight Anthology, The Void and Matrix Magazine. She is currently coeditor-in-chief of Headlight Anthology and writes for the cultural blog soundbeatmag. Midge Raymond’s short story collection, com. She loves awful puns above all, even Forgetting English, received the Spokane Prize more than she loves her mother, which is for Short Fiction. Originally published by saying a lot because her mother is awesome. Eastern Washington UP, a new, expanded edition is forthcoming from Press 53. Her Jasmine Szabo-Knox was once a creative stories have appeared in TriQuarterly, Bellevue writing student at Concordia University. More Literary Review, North American Review, recently, she was fired from a bridal magazine and the Los Angeles Times magazine, among at a Pizza Hut, over a chocolate sundae that others, and her work has received three wasn’t even that good. She could really stand Pushcart Prize nominations as well as an Artist to catch a break. Trust/Washington State Arts Commission Fellowship in Literary Arts. Jackie who Nick Ripatrazone is the author of Oblations Timpener graduated is from a fine the artist Ontario College of Art and Design in 2007. (Gold Wake Press 2011), a book of prose http://www.jackietimpener.com 55 trawling the sea of stories since twenty-ten