Oh Horrors! by Dianna Sinovic
June 13, 2022 by Bethlehem Writers Group in category From a Cabin in the Woods by Members of Bethlehem Writers Group tagged as Dianna Sinovic, StockerCon, Writers conferences
I love attending writers’ conferences—big or small—I always come away with something. It might be a bit of craft, a new tool or resource, or new-found friends. Often, it’s all of the above. Time and budget allow me just a few conferences each year, and for the last two years, it’s been virtual-only.
Last month, I was in Denver to attend StokerCon, the national conference for the Horror Writers Association. It was not only a chance to mingle in person with attendees (including a fav author), but also to hang out with three friends who joined me there.
What I did I come away with? So much! The panel discussions were thought-provoking (What makes cosmic horror cosmic?) and/or just plain fun (a friend featured at an author reading). People-watching was fabulous, especially at the mass author signing, which put authors elbow to elbow at long, long tables. And there was ice cream . . .
I bought books—plenty of them—and kicked myself for not bringing an extra bag to stash them in. I bought raffle tickets for signed copies of several books. (Good thing I didn’t win, because where would I have put them?) And I signed up for a T-shirt drawing (and won!).
The conference ambience was enhanced by the setting, the Curtis Hotel in downtown Denver. Each floor is decorated with a different theme; the 13th floor—yes, there is a 13th—is dedicated to horror. Of course.
My regrets? There was so much excellent programming that I couldn’t fit in everything I wanted to see. And I got there a day too late to attend a pre-party at the Stanley Hotel, the location in Estes Park for The Shining.
StokerCon 2023, here I come!
Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna Sinovic has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories and poetry, and is working on a full-length novel about a young woman in search of her long-lost brother.
Books from Bethlehem Writers Group
Dianna Sinovic, Featured Author
November 7, 2021 by Dianna Sinovic in category Featured Author of the Month tagged as Dianna Sinovic, Featured Author of the Month, Quill and Moss, Short Stories
Author of the Month: Dianna Sinovic
Dianna is a contributing author in the last two anthologies from The Bethlehem Writers Group, Fur, Feathers, and Scales, Sweet, Funny and Strange Animal Tales and Untethered, Sweet, Funny & Strange Tales of the Paranormal. She has also contributed stories for the Bethlehem Writers Roundtable ezine, including “In the Delivery.”
Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories and poetry, and is working on a full-length novel about a young woman in search of her long-lost brother.
She is a member of Sisters in Crime, Horror Writers Association, The American Medical Writers Association, and The Bethlehem Writers Group, LLC.
Dianna also has a regular column here on A Slice of Orange, titled Quill and Moss, in which she frequently includes short fiction.
Below, you can also listen to Dianna read her short story, “Cold Front” from the GLVWG Writes Stuff anthology.
Other books by Dianna Sinovic
Dianna Sinovic, Featured Author
November 1, 2021 by Dianna Sinovic in category Featured Author of the Month tagged as Dianna Sinovic, Featured Author of the Month, Quill and Moss, Short Stories
Author of the Month: Dianna Sinovic
Dianna is a contributing author in the last two anthologies from The Bethlehem Writers Group, Fur, Feathers, and Scales, Sweet, Funny and Strange Animal Tales and Untethered, Sweet, Funny & Strange Tales of the Paranormal. She has also contributed stories for the Bethlehem Writers Roundtable ezine, including “In the Delivery.”
Born and raised in the Midwest, Dianna has also lived in three other quadrants of the U.S. She writes short stories and poetry, and is working on a full-length novel about a young woman in search of her long-lost brother.
She is a member of Sisters in Crime, Horror Writers Association, The American Medical Writers Association, and The Bethlehem Writers Group, LLC.
Dianna also has a regular column here on A Slice of Orange, titled Quill and Moss, in which she frequently includes short fiction.
Below, you can also listen to Dianna read her short story, “Cold Front” from the GLVWG Writes Stuff anthology.
Other books by Dianna Sinovic
In Another Vein
October 30, 2021 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic tagged as Dianna Sinovic, Fictiion, flash Fiction, Halloween, short story
The full moon is my favorite lunar phase. Not because it helps me see better in the darkness—that’s never been a problem. It’s because moonlight infuses the evening with a special glow. It makes me swagger, and maybe take more chances than I should.
On this particular full moon, I am out and about by twelve-thirty; leggings, gray tunic, sensible shoes, my hair knotted atop my head. I think I look sleek like a cat without the whiskers or tail. Some accuse me of walking the streets, but that’s not why I’m out here. It’s hunger, really.
Nostalgia makes me head up Rush Avenue this night. I have memories of sweet drafts, sparkling with life. Ripe pickings, with little danger of getting caught. Part of me says to walk on by and follow my usual routine: Never the same place twice. With the full moon lighting the way, I am more visible than on other nights.
“Hey, girl,” a late stroller shouts from the other side of the deserted street. I ignore him. That is my first mistake. I’m not the only one dressed for inconspicuousness this night.
Another man materializes on my right. A big, muscular fellow, dressed in black.
“Why such a hurry?” he says, but softly, intently. He drifts closer to me, and during that action, I am aware that the late stroller has moved across the street toward me. I am flanked.
I should run—I could easily leave them behind—but the hunger emerges, as it always does when beating hearts are within range. I decide to see what happens if I stay. That is my second mistake.
“The place three doors up has a broken latch on a rear window,” I say. “Easy to enter and look around, if that’s why you’re out here.”
“Maybe,” the big guy says. “And maybe we’re here because we’re looking for someone like you.” His hand grabs my arm, and I can smell tobacco and sweat on him.
The late stroller takes my other arm, but his grip is lighter. He’s shorter, slimmer than the big guy. And his breath as he leans in tells me he’s been drinking. Maybe this duo isn’t out to make a quick buck on stolen goods.
“Nice night for a drive, Matt, don’t you think?” the late stroller says to the big guy as he leers at me. “Especially with the little lady here?”
Matt, the big guy, agrees by laughing, more of a guffaw, and grips my arm more tightly, as though I’ve made any move to get away.
Their car could be any parked along this quiet city block. I have a few seconds to decide on a plan, but I’m distracted by their closeness. Their pulses beat against my arms; even through the tunic’s sleeves I feel them and my hunger surfaces again.
I could sink my teeth into Matt’s hand, but his friend might be strong enough to pull me off.
Unless.
I know how to avoid a third mistake. Moving swiftly, I bite deep, and the reaction is predictable. Matt yelps, letting go of me. I turn just as fast to the other man and draw blood.
“Fuck,” he cries. And I am free once more.
Just as predictable is their rage. No longer am I a target for their lust: They must hurt me because I have hurt them. But I am quick, and did I tell you that I think just as quickly?
Matt rushes me, but I sidestep, and his momentum barrels himself into his friend. They both go down, the friend striking his head on a concrete trash receptacle. He twitches a few times and lies still.
Pushing back to his feet, Matt readies for another assault and then slows. He stares at me. I nod. The venom in my bite has flushed through him.
“What are you?” he says, but the anger that drove him to action a moment ago has dissipated.
I smile. “Give me your hand.” Without hesitation, he complies, and I drink. I’ve had better, but this will do. He watches me, his eyes blinking languidly. “That’s enough for now,” I say. Placing my palm on his wound, the bite seals immediately.
“That was . . . nice,” he says.
“That’s what they all say.” I reach up and gently touch his cheek, his lips. “Sorry about your friend.”
He shakes his head. “Not really a friend. More of a jerk.” He seems unsure of what to do next. “Will I see you again?”
“I should think so,” I say. And then, because I’m fast, I’m gone before he sees where I’m headed, even under a full moon.
2 0 Read moreA Royal Pain
August 30, 2021 by Dianna Sinovic in category Quill and Moss by Dianna Sinovic tagged as Dianna Sinovic, fiction, flash Fiction, short story, Summer Fiction
I botched it.
I am swimming back to the pier where I somersaulted off moments ago. Three people wait for me: Tunis, Vi, and Wally. They could have followed me into the water, but my stumble as I approached the pier’s edge must have spooked them. I was all arms and legs desperately searching for balance.
“Super bad,” Wally yells as I pull myself from the foaming breakers. “No points for you.”
Tunis and Vi giggle. They are sisters. Wally is my brother, who takes on the role of my tormentor whenever our parents are not present. Which is now. We are all four at the pier hoping to catch sight of the phosphorescence that will add a ghostly aura to the waters of the bay once the sky darkens.
But jumping off the pier comes first. Each turn into the water gets graded by a secret system that only Wally knows. My score almost never approaches his, just like my height is always three inches less, and my age is two years behind.
I walk back out on the wooden pier, listening to the creak of my weight on the planks, the slosh of the waves beneath me, and the call of the gulls overhead. It is the finest part of summer vacation, hanging out on the pier, waiting for the night.
“Eeew,” Vi says, pointing at my leg. “Eye worms.” Tunis does a fake scream and runs to the far edge of the pier.
I pluck off the tendrils clinging to my right leg. “It’s just a jellyfish.”
“Fish puke,” Wally corrects. “Only you would find it.”
Straightening back up, I adjust my suit and stride to the end of the pier. It’s thirty feet out—I’ve paced it. This time, as I near the edge, someone dashes past me and cannonballs into the water with a whoop.
Tunis and Vi applaud Wally’s sloppy but cool exit. “Five,” they say, each holding up a hand with five outstretched fingers.
I stick my tongue out. “Show off,” I shout at my brother.
When I look at the sisters, they take a step back. Have I scared them? They are new this year to our strand of Carolina beach.
“You go,” they say, almost in unison. They aren’t twins, but they could be, so alike they move and smile and talk. So immature at seven and eight to my eleven years.
“Follow me,” I command, and retreat several feet from the jump-off to get a running start. Rising on my toes, I pause to let the ocean breeze ruffle the edges of my still-damp hair, and I drink in its salty nip. I could stand here forever, but my audience is waiting.
“Ya – hoo,” I cry, sprinting. I make a perfect, magnificent arc and knife into the bay. When I surface, treading water in the deep drop-off, the sisters are not applauding. That was at least an eight, I think. Instead, they are pointing. At me. Wally is back on the beach, headed toward the pier.
A fat moon is rising at the edge of the world, where the sea ends. What do the girls want? Then I look at the water, the swells lifting me gently in the fast-approaching darkness. I am engulfed in a glowing blue—not only the water that surrounds me, but my hair, my skin, is tinged with an otherworldly color.
Wally has walked to the edge of the pier and stands with Vi and Tunis. They all stare at me.
“She’s queen of the blues,” my brother finally says, laughing, and with another whoop, joins me in the water.
I savor the title. It’s the closest thing to a compliment he’s given me in the last two weeks.
A Dianna Sinovic story will be included in Until Dawn
A Supernatural Anthology
Dianna’s stories are also included in the following titles:
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