In one such re-birthed home off Elliston, a neo-beatnik coffee-beer-food joint spills red neon light into the street where dusky jazz from the “Backdeck” skitters with dead leaves down the cracked one-way blacktop— falls and rises with the daredevil sparrows that dive-bomb the al fresco eaters’ feet looking for renegade Tater Tots.
On a cloud of sweet clove cigarette smoke the hustle of something like multigenerational intellectualism floats over the noise while the silver-haired owner buses the tables himself, magnanimously, wearing jean shorts, white socks, and Jesus sandals, worn-through.
I am an essayist and poet. My work has been rejected by some of the finest journals in America. Fortunately, it also gets accepted from time to time and has appeared in equally fine journals such as Word Riot, Inlandia, Brew City Magazine, and SageWoman, among others.. In 2002, I won the Academy of American Poets Prize for Vanderbilt University.
For no good reason, I possess an unnecessarily dark humor which is why being third generation California Inland Empirian delights me so. My gods are weird. I once won $350 for writing a smartassed essay on “why the wise use of water is important in my daily life”. I am undoubtedly the Greek god Hermes’ special snowflake. I’m pretty sure I got into college via a series of fortuitous clerical errors.
When I had to grow up and get a real job, I decided against it and stayed a writer. I have worked many odd—and I mean odd—jobs to support my habit: PR writer for country music hopefuls, resume massager, WalMart fitting room attendant and switchboard operator, and telephone psychic, just to name a few.
I am also albino. That's why my psychic gifts are so strong. I traded in my pigment for magical foresight, because that's how it works. It gets all technical. Trust me. That's totally how it works.
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M. N. Ashley 