March MorselsMarch 12, 2021
Summer is mehhh except for the fruit and the ocean…and yard salesJune 21, 2021
Hey friends. It’s a cold and rainy Memorial Day Weekend on the Jersey Shore, so here I am saying hi! Revisions for Italian Bones in the Snow are moving along on my end. I hand them in July 27 to my Vine Leaves Editor Melanie, whom I adore to the moon and back. Black Licorice is in motion again with a new editor over at my beloved Inked in Gray. It would be really cool if that novel gets a release day shortly after February when Italian Bones comes out! TBD!
In the meantime, I am shopping two other small projects around and revising a new one. Enjoy an excerpt from Heart and Salt, a 25,000-word collection of short stories about women who are a soft and sharp. Because, we can be both. And when we are both, it should be normalized, not criticized. You know? Like when we say what we mean and mean what we say, it doesn’t mean we also aren’t overflowing with love and compassion.
Love to you all. Stay safe! Elaina
It snowed the morning of my last final exam in Comm Law. Dr. Purtnoy urged us to drive home slowly for winter break and instructed, “Keep your radios down. I know you kids.” I only followed one of her guidelines and ended up being followed by a cop for probably a mile. He pulled up right behind me in my driveway before I realized he had his sirens on. I noticed him in the rearview as I was putting my Chevy Corsica into Park. His brow crumpled. I was in deep shit. My dad also happened to be standing at the top of the snowy driveway with his arms folded and a look on his face that read, “I’m gonna kill you, Feather.” I couldn’t get my palms to stop being slippery no matter how many times I wiped my jeans. My dining hall Rice Krispies rumbled in my gut. Tis the season.
“Young Lady!” The cop began. “I’ve had my sirens on since Rt. 166 by the 7-Eleven.” Yup. About a mile. Shit. Bush’s Machinehead is a very loud song, what does he want me to do? Gavin’s voice masked his siren, and now I’m screwed for sure. I roll up my window, since I love to the cold air when I’m driving, wipe my palms once more on my jeans, and open the door to the cop and my dad. The cop let out a raspy laugh that sent chills up my spine. He and my dad were sending nonverbal signals that could only mean I would lose.
For those of you looking for context of Machinehead or 90s love, enjoy this amazing live performance of the song that sealed Feather’s fate: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2xdgGLKoJCE