Categories
Promotional

Why Bindweed Magazine is a labour of love

Bindweed Magazine celebrated its 1 year birthday on 3rd April this year. With the end of the tax year also in sight this month, Editor-in-Chief Leilanie Stewart has published, for a little insight to readers, Bindweed’s financial incomings – and outgoings – showing why the magazine truly is a labour of love to provide another platform for writers and poets to market their creative work. Read the full article here: https://leilaniestewart.wordpress.com/2017/04/14/why-bindweed-magazine-is-a-labour-of-love/

To support the magazine you can buy back issues at Amazon.com or at Lulu.com.

Categories
Promotional

Happy birthday Bindweed Magazine!

In April, Bindweed Magazine will celebrate its first birthday. In celebration of a successful year of three published issues and a pending fourth to complete the quarterly schedule, here are some reader and contributor photos for you to share the magazine’s many happy returns.

Remember, Issue 5 is still open for submissions for April, May and June 2017, so keep submitting!

Enjoy! 🌺

Editor-in-Chief and Editorial Sahayak

Leilanie Stewart and Joseph Robert

Bindweed Magazine Issue 1: Morning GloryIssue 2: Bellbine and Issue 3: Creeping Jenny

🍃

Bindweed Magazine Issue 1 photograph by Charles Rammelkamp

🍃

Bindweed Magazine Issue 2  photograph by Paul Beckman

🍃

Bindweed Magazine Issue 1 photograph by Olivier Cousin

Categories
Promotional

Bindweed Magazine Issue 2 now available to buy 

Bindweed Magazine Issue 2: Bellbine is now available:

Paperback for $6.16 from Amazon.com – coming soon!

Paperback for £5.00 from Amazon.co.uk – coming soon!

FREE ebook PDF

Paperback (£5/ $6.16) from Lulu

Keep reading more of Issue 3: October, November and December.

Submissions open for Issue 4 to be published in January, February and March 2017.

Categories
Promotional

Fiction Promotion – Hym and Hur by Phillip Frey 

Title: Hym and Hur

Author: Phillip Frey

Format: Ebook available through Amazon and Smashwords

Pages: 29 pages

Published: 15 January 2014

ISBN: 978-83-7606-460-4

Publisher: http://www.phillipfrey.com/hym-and-hur.html

Contact:  http://www.phillipfrey.com

🍃

Extract from ‘Hym and Hur’

CHAPTER 1


A bright flash lit up the restaurant window. The waitress snapped her eyes shut, thinking it was the sun bouncing off a windshield. Blinking her eyes open, she noticed the booth alongside the window was occupied. A booth she could have sworn had just been empty, and she made her way over to it.

Hym set the breakfast menu down. “Coffee,” he said to the waitress, “and can I get a hot fudge sundae at this hour?”

“No problem,” she told him. “And for you, ma’am?”

“Hot tea,” Hur said, “and a slice of cherry pie with two scoops of vanilla ice cream.”

“Sounds great,” the waitress smiled, and she left them.

“What’ll we do today?” Hur asked Hym.

Searching for an answer, his hazel eyes filled with mischief. “How about this?” he whispered. “For twenty-four hours we give everyone in Los Angeles bad luck.”

“But most of them already have bad luck,” Hur said. “And it would be a negative. Why not give everybody good luck?”

“Not really my kind of fun,” he slouched.

In the silence that followed, each tried to come up with something.

“Breakfast time,” the waitress announced. She served the drinks and desserts, and then was off to the next booth.

Hur’s blue eyes brightened. “I got it,” she said, and it was her turn to whisper. “For a day or two, no one in Los Angeles dies.”

Hym slapped his forehead. “That is great!”

“Oh-darn,” she said. “We’ll have to get you-know-who to go along with it.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Hym said as he dug happily into his sundae. “It’ll give him a chance to shorten his list.”

Hur nodded skeptically as she took a big bite of her dessert.

🍃

 

Extract from ‘Hym and Hur’

CHAPTER 2


Barney’s Beanery had just opened. There were only two customers at the bar. A chubby old woman sipped a beer at one end. At the other sat Death tossing back a shot of Jim Beam.

He grimaced with delight, slammed his glass down and said, “Barkeep—I’ll have another.”

Pouring the drink, the bartender eyed Death’s black coat and fedora, the pale skin and long gnarled fingers. “Perfect weather for a coat,” he cracked, “must be only about 80 out there.”

Death took hold of his fresh drink. “You’re too young to be a real barkeep,” he said. “You’re a standup comic, just trying to make ends meet.”

“Got me pegged,” said the bartender. “Which club you see me at?”

“None,” Death grinned. He downed the Jim Beam, burped and said, “I’m a real whiz when it comes to people-insight.”

The Beanery’s door opened. Hym and Hur stepped in and gazed at the far end of the bar, at Death ordering one more for the road.

Death saw them and arose tall and lanky from his stool. “It’s Hym and Hur,” he said leaning in toward the bartender. “Pair of beauties, wouldn’t you say?” Then turning toward the pair, he hollered over the distance: “Pair of troublemakers is more like it!”

The bartender said, “Hey, take it easy or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“It’s them who ought to leave,” Death said. He backed away from the bar, knocked his stool over, danced in a circle and sang out, “Pretty pair will fill your bottles with beetles and worms, and your drinkers will dance with pink ‘n’ blue pachyderms!”

The chubby old woman at the near end of the bar put her money down and left.

“Geez,” Hym said quietly to Hur, “does Death need a vacation or what?”

Death stopped dancing, pointed a long finger at them and shouted, “Secrets—dirty little secrets!”

The bouncer came over to Death and said, “You’re outta here, buddy!” He grabbed Death’s coat sleeve and yanked him toward the back exit.

Suddenly, as if struck by lightning, the bouncer let go of the sleeve, reeled and hit the floor with a hard thud.

“He’ll wake up after I leave,” Death told the fearful bartender. “Now, now,” Death said to him, “everything’s fine.” Picking his stool up off the floor, Death sat and threw back his one for the road, Hym and Hur on the approach.

“I’m feeling much better now,” Death said to the bartender. “So good in fact, I’ll have another for the road while I give these two a moment of my time, over there in that booth.”

“And for us,” Hym ordered, “two root-beer floats.”

“Heavy on the ice cream,” Hur smiled brightly.

Death stepped over the bouncer and said to the bartender, “No use in trying to use the phone. Landlines and cells have been temporarily brought down by an unusually large sun spot.”

 

🍃

 

Information about the author:

Website: http://www.phillipfrey.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorphillipfrey
Phillip Frey has been a professional actor, independent filmmaker and produced screenwriter. He is now devoted only to writing prose. The fiction books “Dangerous Times” and “Hym and Hur” were his first published works.
As a recent contest winner, Phillip Frey’s romantic comedy, “The Hero of Lost Causes,” may be read in Scribes Valley Publishing’s annual short story anthology, “Slow the Pace.” Available in print and eBook.

Categories
Poetry

Jota Boombaba – 2 poems 

Volkswagen Van

                         “We never see him.”

                                     —Louis XIV

 

Grand chateau, once royal court of France

  now packed with peasants on bus tours from Paris

    —and me curled up in a Volkswagen van

 

Where once purple kings and sycophants pranced

  dancing with stars on a moonlit terrace

    this grand chateau, this royal crown of France

 

Now hosts a daily deluge—trash cans

  full of coffee cups, littered souvenirs

    and me curled up in a Volkswagen van

 

When one past prince fell ill at romance

  too ashamed to be seen, too embarrassed

    he shunned the chateau, a sin across France

 

Like him, I’m alone, a grin with no glance

  never to know a stroll with an heiress

    only the hold of a Volkswagen van

 

 


🍃

 

Railway Deli

                     —Train to Venice, 1980

 

Parents packed with diaper bags; infants, kids

  stuffed like peppers in a carriage corridor

 

Uniformed soldiers smoking San Miguels

  strung-up salamis, olives in a jar

 

I close my itchy eyes, dream of first-class seats

  roomy leather arms, air-con breeze

 

I pop a Coca-Cola, pour bubbles over ice

  prop my tired feet, sip the countryside

 

But eyes blink open, burning from the stench

  thin tin can, narrow wooden bench

 

 


🍃


Jota Boombaba, when not on the road, writes in and around San Francisco, where he lives an kicks back with his son.  Catch him most days at www.jotaboombaba.com.