Archive for Composition


assurNewly-hung stars light our path through the grove, fat with summer fruit. I crouch low against Arye’s back, my fingers buried in her mane. Wound round my throat Nachash eggs Arye on.

They’re gaining.” she calls out as if we don’t already hear the hooting, stomping melee that is Ben and Keves, coming up fast behind. A great rumble of laughter rolls through our lioness ride as she clears a felled tree.

The ram and his boy will lose time going around.

We reach the clearing and fall in a heap beneath the trees at the edge of the moonlight field. The air is still warm and heavy with the scent of jasmine. Quince, pomegranate and figs hang above our bed of clover. My belly growls.

Arye licks her fur with a practiced boredom as Keves clambers into the clearing. “I told you so.” She purrs without looking up.

The girl weighs less than this brute.” Keves gasps, catching Ben in the arse with the tip of a horn as he slides to the ground.

Paws beat hooves yet again my friend.” Nachash says with barely concealed venom.

Would that you had either.” Ben flops down beside me, his salty heat stirring another hunger.

Sustenance!” he demands, looking to Nachash and then the shadowy clusters of fruit above. Her eyes narrow, but she slips over my shoulder and scales the tree. Moments later, a fat fig nails Ben in the forehead.

I snatch it and manage a bite before he lunges, then take secret pleasure in his flesh against mine, as he wrestles it from my hand. When he’s claimed the fruit, I shove him off and finally swallow my bite.

Immediately fire fills my belly, my vision blurs and my limbs grow heavy. On the insides of my eyelids flash visions of desolate land and rivers of blood. I open my eyes to find my friends crowded ‘round, shadowy figures against a darkening sky.

Arye calls for help from beyond with an unintelligible roar. I feel Nachash at my shoulder but hear only a hissing as her tongue flicks my ear. In fact, in all the commotion it’s only Ben I can understand.

Azazel!” he spits out my name out like a curse, “What have you done?”

The whole world has changed in an instant.

I will forever bear the blame.


Details on The Dark Fairy Queen‘s Midsummer Night Dream flash fiction contest are as follows:



(Part 1 – How I Ended up Publishing Independently)

I didn’t intend to get all indie with this book, or maybe I did in the beginning, but when editors start nosing around one feels hopeful and when agents get involved it’s easy to dream of the big leagues. Who doesn’t want a posh NY Agent with international connections?

When I got one, I thought it was time to kick back and let her take over. Oh I wrote the proposal she asked for (with gritted teeth, mind you) but once I handed over the proposal, I ceased to be an active participant in the process.

It was up to her now.

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promopicWhen Alice first revealed herself to us, someone loaned me a book from the local PFLAG library. It was a skinny yellow volume titled “Mom, I Need to Be a Girl” written by a woman who called herself Just Evelyn. I must have read through that book twenty times in those first couple of months. When I felt alone, plunging headlong against the tide, she gave me strength.

It’s the reason I started writing about Alice and our journey.

The culmination of that work is The Complicated Geography of Alice, my memoir which will be available for Kindle and in paperback through Amazon this December. It is an intimate, portrayal of a family in crisis and a mother who believes that her daughter is going to blaze a brave new path if she can just keep her sober long enough to grow up.

Many of the stories in the book first appeared as blog posts here and at The Daily Kos and you can still find excerpts on the book page. If you would like to be notified upon publication, you can follow on Facebook or send a blank e-mail to laurustina [at] gmail [dot] com with the words BOOK NEWS in the subject line. 



 I’ve been working with badass Bradley on revisions for The Complicated Geography of Alice and I just cut the following chapter from the manuscript. It’s always wrenching to tear stuff out, so I’m sharing it here to soothing my psyche. Honestly, it’s more about my general distaste for the carrot and stick method of providing services to needy people than it is about Alice. Still, there are little bits of her – of us – in here that still make me giggle. 


Grandma Jo has been trying. I’ll give her that. A couple of months ago, she let me drag her to a PFLAG meeting where Alice’s support group leader Elizabeth spoke on transgender awareness. It was basic stuff, and I’d hoped it would be enlightening. Mostly though, my mum sat and stewed about a man in the group who had been rude to her in some other venue. She is trying to change her language to appease us, but it’s becoming clear that she has no interest in changing her mind. This is just a phase that her grandson is going through and she’s going to wait it out patiently, pretending all along that it’s no big deal.

For this reason, I’m surprised when she invites Alice and I to join her for High Tea at a local homeless shelter. The event is a benefit for the women’s program at the shelter, which provides temporary housing, healthcare and education opportunities along with financial and spiritual advising. The thought of making food and shelter conditional upon the acceptance of spiritual advising makes me queasy, but I try to set that aside because Alice is excited to have been invited to such a gloriously girlie event. Especially by Grandma Jo.

When she arrives to pick us up, Alice has just finished applying her thirteenth layer of lipgloss and I’m still struggling to run a comb through my hair.

“You both look so nice,” Grandma Jo says as Alice dashes past her towards the car.

“SHOTGUN!” she shouts, diving into the passenger seat, leaving me to climb into the back. On the ride to the bad side of town, my mother explains everything as she is prone to do.

“Now there’s going to be tea, sandwiches and desserts, and then a fashion show. Do you remember the women in my bible study group? We’ve got a whole table to ourselves.”

We arrive at the mission, disembark and meet our little circle of ladies in the parking lot. My mother’s Bible Study Lady Friends are the kind of women who arrange casserole duty for grieving families, send encouraging little notes to one another with bible verses written in them, and structure the bulk of their gossip in the approved “prayer request” manner. They’re nice enough, some more so than others, but a generally congenial group.

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091114I’m breaking up with my agent.

Or maybe she’s breaking up with me.

Either way, we’ve apparently come to the end of this eternally awkward and non-communicative road.

Some of you know that I have been underwhelmed by her activities on my behalf – six months to get a working proposal, followed by six months of radio silence until finally, in July, a brief flurry of effort which ultimately culminated in – well, nothing.

From the beginning, we disagreed on fundamental issues – namely how much we should tell editors about the end of story. I understood that she wanted to withhold that kind of information in the proposal, but she seemed intent on keeping Alice’s death from them until a deal was on the table.

For me, framing the story as something other than what it is makes sense in a three paragraph query but NOT at the point where editing notes are being exchanged. This strategy wasted time – mine and that of the editors involved.

Yes, I’m frustrated that she dragging this process out for sixteen months, but at the same time, I’m weirdly excited at the thought of having it back in my own hands. To a certain extent, when I handed it off to the agent, I disengaged. But no more.

I’ll be looking at other ways of moving forward (non-traditional publishing options and such) for the next few weeks so chime in if you have thoughts on the matter.