And the writing trail continues!

My short story, ‘The Stump Maker,’ word count his risen to 3,400!

There’s something about bringing a story to life that fills my soul full of positive fuel.

The submission word cap is 5,000..so I’ll be sliding this one to an end shorty…a heart pounding end I hope! It is a horror story after all ;P

Cheers, Everyone!

I hope your day is treating you well.

Matt

Author of ‘Only. Just. Here.’ Which is published in America’s Emerging Horror Writers: East Region:

https://www.amazon.com/Americas-Emerging-Horror-Writers-Region/dp/1097715485/ref=pd_rhf_dp_p_img_2?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=4GXHSPDK0398RJJ6QDS3

And author of the award winning short story, ‘Bodies in The Basement.’

Read for free here: https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/bodies-in-the-basement-awarded-publication-of-the-year-non-poetic-spillwords-press-nyc-2019/

 

Poem

I haven’t seen him since 2016
This is us

Wrote a story about him
He’s in the middle
I’m on the right
Phil is on the left

Love the man
He always said
We got to try everything once

That was then
I wonder about that now

 

 

this is us

#Short Story

‘I’m a Lion’
Based on True Events
Written by -M. Taggart

I’m a Lion

“It’s not always about coyotes, Dad.” The windows were down while they drove along the dirt road. The wind crossed through the cabin of the truck and back into the forest.

“There are coyotes out there.”

“But, it’s not always about the coyotes, Dad.”

“I know.”

“If there was a coyote that tried to get you, I’d used my sharp teeth and kill that coyote. But, it’s not always coyotes. Sometimes it’s wolves too and mountain lions. I’ll kill them with my long claws and sharp teeth.”

“I love your imagination, honey,” his mother said. She turned her head forward again. “I don’t remember doing things like this. We went on drives, but it was as if I wasn’t allowed to have my own thoughts. I was just, there. Did you ever feel like that?”

“No.” He filed through images of his memory, recalling playing in mud with his brother and having stick wars against neighborhood children. Riding bikes and fishing and pretending to be a private in the military.

“Anyway, Dad, it’s not always about coyotes.”

He watched the dust follow the truck in the rear view mirror. It drifted slowly, and toward the end of the trail the dust was gone again.

 

-M. Taggart

Author of the award winning short story, ‘Bodies In The Basement.’ Which can be read via the link below.

https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/bodies-in-the-basement-awarded-publication-of-the-year-non-poetic-spillwords-press-nyc-2019/

 

Books and Brews!

Easily among my favorite days. The book signing was an incredible success. Even though my hands were shaking while signing the first few. 46982E77-AFA4-45BC-9691-E7BEDDCCDAA2

Summarizes my priorities. Me looking at my family.

What a memory! I’m one lucky man.

Cheers everyone!

Matt

A cold, sweet, thing.

Kindness isn’t something hard to remember.

It was cold on the lake.
All the children wore layers and thick hats,
the kind that make it hard to really see them,
and when a flag sprung, everyone said,
“Flag!” And pointed.

The layered children ran toward the flag.
Ice fishing in Maine has a way of making
children, and all people, stay outside.

Two fish were freezing to death in the snow.
They had been brought topside a few minutes earlier.
“Are they dead?” He asked. A curious four-year-old.

“Not yet. But soon.”

“Why are they dead?”

“Because they are freezing and belong in the water.”

“But, why are they dead?”

“Because we caught them and brought them up here.”

“Can I touch them?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, fish. Hi, fish.”
The boy stroked the dying fish with his gloved hand.

-M. Taggart

Confusion with a tail #poem

Stray dog came at me today.
I didn’t want to fight,
Pulled out my knife-
saw the Pitbull.
Didn’t have much time,
as our four-year-old
was about to be dropped
off from the bus.
What the hell was this dog
doing here, on the side
of a mountain in Maine?
I want to be his friend.
But had to take out
the knife.
Shouldn’t show your teeth.
And shouldn’t circle behind.

-M. Taggart

He’s fine, somewhere in the woods.
I’d like to know him on different terms.
Maybe I’ll find him tomorrow.

“Bodies in the Basement,” has been voted Non-Poetic Publication of the Year! 

“Bodies in the Basement,” has been voted Non-Poetic Publication of the Year! Spillwords Press, NYC.

Looks like I’ll need to change my blog around a bit. Thanks to Spillwords, and all of you, one of my favorite stories I’ve written, is now an award winner! I’m pumped, joyful, and thankful! I love this! The story was written about a prep-school campus I visited often as a child. We lived just below the campus and many of us snuck onto the campus at night and explored things we shouldn’t have.

I’m thrilled to be among all of the talented participants in the 2019 awards.

View the award PDF here:

Spillwords Press Awards 2020

 

Written by: M. Taggart

 

It was a crisp, damp, October night.
“When we get to the Church I’ll go down first.” Colin was thinking of the moment when both he and Aaron would be standing at the top of the basement stairs peering down into the darkness.
The old stone Church was perched at the top of the largest hill on the prep school’s campus. Colin’s parents were professors at the school and their house was on campus grounds. They’d been waiting for Colin’s parents to fall asleep upstairs. Both boys were comfortable in their sleeping bags on the screened in porch. The lights had been turned out an hour ago and Colin felt it was time to slip into the night.
They unzipped their sleeping bags without noise. Colin gave Aaron an understanding nod of his head. Aaron opened the porch door slowly, so as not to make it squeak. They’d snuck out at night a number of times and both knew the routine.
Once down the porch steps, and into the bushes on the far end of the lawn, they found their beaten down footpath leading to the Church. Crickets were busy sounding off.
“I heard Ben saw the baby in the jar.” Said Aaron.
“He didn’t. He’s just saying he did. Ben would be too afraid to sneak in. He’d never do it. Besides, the doors of the science building are locked at night.”
“They weren’t when we snuck in.”
“That was different. I knew which window to climb through.” Said Colin.
The moon was large. Its brilliant glow could be seen from beneath each cloud. The grass was soaked with mildew; moisture reached out and touched the boys’ jeans. The smell of dirt from the footpath filled their lungs. Each step bringing them nearer to their true intentions; learning if there was a morgue in the basement of the Church. Rumors swirled endlessly amongst them at school. Some said the Church had a morgue and that it was haunted. Others said the Church didn’t have a morgue and that Sunday school classes were held in the basement.
For a brief moment the night sky broke open with moonlight. Colin looked at Aaron and wondered why Aaron was smiling. He could see the dark space between Aaron’s two front teeth.
“Look how fast the clouds are moving,” said Colin.
“I like them. They look crazy. Do you think we can get in?” asked Aaron.
“Yes. They don’t lock the Church.”

 

Read the entire story here:

Bodies In The Basement

Cheers, everyone!

Matt