Monday, November 8, 2010

New Stories and Link tweaks!

Iced Trees

Haiku! There's nature and frost and stuff.

7x20 is a charming tweet-zine that posts micro fiction and haiku. The editor has a good eye and the postings are worth a follow. She is looking for submissions that are winter related so give it a go.

Share Her with the Ocean

A story about a man's encounter with a strange girl on the beach.

The format of the magazine does not allow me to do a straight link to the story, but you can find it by clicking "current issue" and my name Cee Martinez on the author list.

Ghost Ocean Magazine is a new literary magazine devoted to flash fiction and poetry that is highly geared to stimulating your senses and sticking with you long after you've left it.

The Mermaid

A boy and his father find a mute, beautiful young woman washed ashore. When they take her into their home the boy's life will never be the same.

With Painted Words posts stories and poetry based upon a new art or photograph prompt each month. Each issue is engaging and surprising. Don't be afraid to submit to them.

Link updates:

The link to my story "The Umbrella" does not work anymore. It was posted in Issue 1 of Ghost Ocean Magazine and they have since changed their website. In order to read it just go to the site, click on the "archives" tab and find Cee Martinez in Issue 1.

The link to my story "Promised Land Ice Cream" no longer exists. It appeared in Issue 1 of Technicolor Magazine and they have no online archives. They are putting together a print edition and I think it will soon be possible to order an archived print issue of it. I will keep you posted on that.

Here is the new link to my story "The Scapegoat" which appeared in Issue 10 of Up the Staircase Quarterly

Be a HERO alert!!!!!!!

Ghost Ocean Magazine has the opportunity to go to the AWP Writer's Conferance in Washington, D.C. where they will have a booth, chapbooks, buttons, goodies, etc... to get the word out about their awesome site. In order to do that, however, they are at the mercy of literary fans with a little change to spare. They have opened a Kickstart Pledge Drive page and they only need 125 dollars to reach the 700 dollar goal that would get them to DC.

There are goodies for donating at the 5, 10, 25, 50, and 100 dollar level. If you have even a dollar to spare (or a pound for any British/Irish/Scottish readers), can you please find it in your heart to share? There is less than 25 days to go on this drive and they are SO CLOSE! If you cannot donate, could you please find the twitter link on the page and retweet it. Spread the word and help a fledgling literary magazine make a splash!

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Between the Bridge and the River by Craig Ferguson

Every single character in this novel pretty much wanders barefoot through a field of burning coals. Some of them are too stupid to realize it, others feel it is their just desserts, others see it and turn it into something they can profit from.

George and Fraser are two Scotsmen, childhood friends who drifted apart after a fateful meeting with a pedophile. Both of them find themselves now in a position where their chosen paths in life have brought them nothing but stagnation. Fraser is a popular host of a religious show shilling for a God he barely believes in while wearing knitted jumpers sent from elderly fans, and sexually exploiting his staff. George is a man married to a wife he never really loved (the feeling is mutual with the missus) and long past hope in his mind of connecting with his teenaged daughter. Something has to give.

Saul and Leon are brothers from the American South, essentially orphans after their washed up Las Vegas showgirl mother is locked away due to her crippling case of Munchausen Byproxy. These brothers find they cannot live apart from each other, one blessed with the singing voice, looks and charm of his famous father, and the other blessed with the smarts, cunning, and heartlessness of a boxing promoter. Clearly they have a higher calling.

Claudette's curse is more than the irritating habit her lovers have of dying on her, sometimes in the act of love itself--her curse is being French. As such, she is a woman doomed to walk through life gorgeous, tragic, willing to love and drown in every pleasure imaginable, and still be acutely aware of her role on Earth as an erotic Virgin Mary for the dying. She could want a different path but the Jesus she so desperately loved as a child has personally given her the command.

The first novel from the rather jack-of-all-trades celebrity Craig Ferguson is a doozy. A highschool dropout, a boozing, drug addled stand-up comedian in Glasgow, a sometime scriptwriter, a man who was turned down at his "Braveheart" audition for "not sounding authentically Scottish" and finally a man who broke through in America on the popular "Drew Carey Show" to become the profane yet endearing host of "The Late Late Show", certainly had inspiration to draw from. He could have misfired wildy, but here, I don't think he does.

The storylines in this novel are all delicately hung on improbable premises that when shaken could easily shatter. Do it yourself religion, miracles, visitations from Jesus, visitations from Jung, walks through the afterlife, fairy tales, unexplained connections with serial killers that have no weight on the rest of the story, all take place here. Destiny pulls these characters, the fight against it, also drives them. The prose and stories very much show the influence of Ferguson's heroes, Douglas Adams and Monty Python, colliding with an acid riddled session on an overpaid psychiatrist's couch. We are asked to accept these stories early on with the reminder that there is no scientific reason for a bumblebee's ability to fly, if we can accept that, we can accept this.

Another driving force of this novel's story is America. Not the shining, saccharine America that is sold in glossy Hollywood movies, nor the smarmy dripping with unredeemable evil America that the rest of the world shakes their head at. What he has successfully done, is take both of these Americas and combined them into a creature as coppery and weathered as Lady Liberty herself. Ferguson became an American citizen two years ago, spoke at the White House Correspondance dinner and is an unabashed patriot of his adopted country, warts and all. "I once passed by a grocery in Arkansas," he quipped on his show, "And I saw a sign that said beer, fireworks and guns sold here! And I thought to myself, 'Now THIS is my America! This is why I love this country!'"

The characters Saul and Leon are sucked early on into a searingly American clan of Christians who dance with poisonous snakes to prove their faith. This could have easily turned into a satire on "backwards America", a chance to point and laugh at things that even Americans laugh at. Ferguson, however, looks at this part of the country with an amazingly sympathetic eye. The American Hillbilly might be an uneducated, superstitious sort, but they still have a heart and decency that the cynical elite mock. White America, Ferguson writes, longs for the nostalgia of an America that never existed, and for the most part does not understand the irony in a lot of the history they've created, but there is a pull and a power to it that is both dazzling and terrifying.

There are micro-stories within this novel. Characters that pass through and within one or two paragraphs their private lives, habits and tragic ends are scrolled by and we never hear from them again. This is the writing of someone who will sit at a Starbucks and wonder if the girl passing by with the rip in her jeans is really part of something bigger in the fabric of this universe, or if her only connection to him is that they were both once atoms in the same bowl of porridge eaten by Alexander the Great.

I hope you have a fun time reading this novel. It's irreverent, perverted, hilarious, tragic, but through it all it has a heart and a willingness to believe that all of us, even the most damaged and worthless, are still capable of second chances.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Story Links! I'm Short, Fast, and Deadly! XD Bad pun is bad but whatevs...

Latest stories accepted have been posted!

The Field

A story submitted for the ghost theme issue. It's about death and revenge in a lonely field.

Short, Fast, and Deadly--Issue 39 was a particularly chilling week. Enjoy the rest of the haunting stories submitted. i39: Nothing Can Be Told Without the Dead


One of my shortest stories to date. Ah, Tweet-fiction seems to be here to stay. :) Three protagonists, one possibly unspeakable act, and a victim who doesn't seem to play along.

Short, Fast, and Deadly--One of the best online fiction magazines out there. Stories and poems are as brief as a status update but pack all the punch of a poisoned bon-bon. A must read, always.


I am also excited to have won a spot on an upcoming Literary Lab anthology. I've been given the opportunity to write a 10 page short story on anything I choose. I'll keep y'all posted on when the anthology goes up for sale.


Thursday, September 9, 2010

One Minute Writer Six Minute Story

Anyone want fun writing exercises? Try out One Minute Writer or Six Minute Story . They are just as they say they are, write what you will in a one minute or six minute time constraint, both with prompts.

One Minute Writings:


Was discussing 11:11 today. I figure the Illuminati might favor 1/1/11 to attack. Seeing as they like it. Was noted to me though that they also like 33. So 11/11/11 is also a possibility. Next year should be really fun.


I remember when a little girl, a tad older, a tad taller than me, grabbed tightly onto my panda. She tried ripping it from my hands. I held on and screeched. Dad came up behind me as I sobbed. I clung to Dad, still had my bear. Her pigtails bounced when he mom slapped her. I smiled.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Weird Dream

In my dream I was standing in an attic, looking out the attic window to see a large stretch of sand poured over grass. I see Thomas Edison next to me and he is quite proud of his accomplisment. He has ten bears covered in sand and then electrocuted to death. The bears hit the sand and there is a ripple of light over it.

I begin talking to someone else, a man whom I don't recognize and can't remember the face of, almost as if nothing had just happened. I feel split at this point as if the sleeping me is horrified by what happened to the bears, but the dream me is like "whatever."

Edison begins talking but we ignore him. I don't remember what I was talking to this man about.

Out of the corner of my eye I see ten elephants arranged on the sand. I think nothing of it except that they're cute.

"The sand will absorb all of it. It becomes harmless to us," Edison says.

I still ignore him.

The elephants are covered in sand until they resemble concrete statues, then they are electrocuted as well. They suffer a lot and scream as they hit the ground. The sand ripples with waves of light but Edison is right, the electricity stops at the sand and does not touch the grass.


Oookay. Weirded out so I found a dream symbol site to try and make heads and tails of this.


Attic--Is the intellect, repressed thoughts and connection to higher self. The spirituality.

Grass--The part of yourself that you can always rely on. A natural protection.

Sand--Shift in perspective and a change in attitude.

Thomas Edison (Inventor)--Symbolizes personal achievments. An attempt at elevating personal consciousness.

Window--Looking out the window represents the outlook on life. Your point of view and awareness and the need to mull over a desicion.

10--Corresponds to closure and great strength. Also represents the ten commandments.

Bears--independance, death and renewal and resurrection. A period of introspection and thinking, one might have things they need to "lay bare".

Electrocution--indicates your current course of actions will lead to disaster. It represents fear and the consequences of your actions. One needs to pay attention to their own surroundings.

Man--denotes the aggressive, competitive, rational side of oneself. --a/n UM EXCUSE ME?

Elephants--a need to be more patient and understanding. Maybe a need to let go of the past (memory held on for too long). Also a symbol of power, strength and intellect.

Also a symbol of the Republican Party.

Torture--*note: the Elephants suffered the bears showed no signs of feeling pain* suggests one is punishing oneself for their own bad habits by projecting it onto another symbol in the dream. It can also symbolize revenge fantasies. Consider the symbol being tortured.


Okay! Let's take a look shall we?

I'm in the attic, so therefore in a room with my "rational side" (man) and my "creative accomplisments side" (Edison). My "rational side" is distracting me with conversation, and lulling me away from the things I have an opinion on. (window)

A change of opinion (sand) is being poured over the part of me that I can always rely on, my protection (grass).

A strong, complete part of me (10) is being laid bare (bears) on the change of my opinion. (sand) This is a huge mistake and will lead to disaster. (electrocution) ---does this mean if I actually shared a bit more of myself as I've been pondering lately that it will be a huge mistake??? D:

The disaster (electrocution) is absorbed by my change of perspective (sand) and does not touch my core. (the grass)

As this disaster (elec) occurs, my rational side (man) keeps me talking, while my creative side (edison) tries to get my attention. My creative side caused the first disaster so it is setting up the next.

A powerful (10) part of my past that I'm holding a grudge over --or the Republican party hahaha what???-- (elephants) is now arranged over my change of opinion (sand). My creative side (edison) tells me that it's going to be okay because my core (the grass) will keep me safe despite what happens.

The symbol of my grudge --or the republican party?? haha-- (elephants) is destroyed and suffers horribly, fulfilling my need to obliterate it. (torture)

----------------------------------------------------- this might be an optimistic dream. Both my rational and creative sides are telling me that despite whatever disaster I am going to cause for myself and THE WORLD *cackles* I will still be safe at my core, and will get through it. I am going through some sort of transition and it's gonna cause trouble but no worries cause I'll still be me. basically sucks for everyone else, but here I come? XD

Sunday, September 5, 2010

My Longshot

This short story was written as a submission to Longshot Magazine's 24 hour contest, the challenge theme being, "Comeback". It's based upon real events.

Fence Fight--Cee Martinez

This Morning

My reward for taking a different route from my normal walk came when I happened upon a backyard complete with a snarling Chihuahua behind a chain-link fence. Cream colored, stout of chest, and with a well muscled little trot that would make any cart horse envious. He hit the fence with murderous gusto. My dog, about fifty pounds of silvery Nordic fluff, locked eyes with the little stinker, and they commenced the oldest of dog traditions: snarling through the fence at each other in a way that if translated would probably equal Tarantino penned dialogue for a Mexican standoff.

I pulled on my dog, the leash so taut it vibrated but the damn dog's feet may as well have been sunk in mud. I finally had to nudge my dog with the toe of my sneaker to get him moving. We were halfway past the fence, Chihuahua still in deadly pursuit, when a large black Lab burst from the open porch door of the house. My dog dug in again, puffed and prepped for the second battle. My tight forearms trembled, and I put my back into pulling my dog from the fence.

Too late, however, because the Lab hit the fence, snapping and snarling and running over the Chihuahua in the process. I was nearly past the fence, but the Lab's barks faded in favor of the increasingly desperate tin-whistle scream from the Chihuahua. I stood for a moment, scowling, staring. The Lab left off his barking, and his tail dropped as he sniffed at the screaming Chihuahua. The squeals leaving the little dog's body now trilled and warbled, hitting scales that approximated the tone of a car alarm. Even my dog let the leash fall slack and as I walked back to the fence, he did not want to follow.

I looked at the prone dog. I saw his white teeth flashing, his tongue lolling, and his legs and tail were not moving. It made me think of that one time when my dad tried holding my pet hamster, almost dropped it and in his fumbling, pinched it against the glass of his aquarium home. When he put it back into the aquarium, it lay motionless on the litter shavings. its mouth flopping uselessly until it died seconds later. I stared with increasing dizziness at its head, thinking of that one time I saw those freaky videos of Russian scientists reanimating severed dog's heads.

I swallowed hard and looked up, staring at the open back-door of the house, and I yelled, "He's hurt! He's hurt!"

A pale as pudding wisp of a woman came running, "What happened? What happened?"

We never made eye contact. She lifted her dog into her pink mottled pale arms. His body hung limp. His neck twisted as his agonized chortles turned into rasping, gargled groans. "Dad!" She screamed, "Dad!" And then her voice deepened, became an accusatory stab, "What happened?"

If I hadn't have walked this way, I thought, if I'd just stayed on my normal route. My voice felt cold and empty as I spoke. "The black dog... it ran over the little one."

She didn't answer. She carried the whimpering Chihuahua back to a white-haired man who stood with his fists clenched on the back porch. She slid the dog into his arms; he cradled it over his thick forearm like one would an infant. The dog's neck hung over his arm as it began a fresh set of howling screams.

The black dog stood vigil, staring. Its pink tongue hung from its mouth as it growled.

I sobbed all the way home, my dog's tail between his legs.

This Evening

I bought flowers and a giftbasket after deciding that writing, "Sorry your dog died because of me" on an unsigned card and leaving it in their mailbox would be kind of cowardly. The woman answered the door and upon seeing me, broke into a broad, apple cheeked smile. "He's okay! Killer is OKAY!"

I blinked. Of course the damn dog's name is Killer.

"How...why?" I said with a gasp.

She said the dog was seemingly paralyzed so she and her dad took him to the vet to be put down. Then, on the table, just as the vet gets near him, the dog recovers and bites his hand. Basically, he's okay. Bless the saints! All of that.

I squinted. She continued to tell me that the dog checked out completely fine, and they all think he just had his feelings hurt from being trampled, and had thrown some kind of tantrum. You know, just to let everyone know the extent of his emotional pain.

I pursed my lips and pointed at her, "I don't think I like your dog that much right now."

She laughed and snatched the gift basket. "Killer has a girlfriend," she said as she carried the basket to her kitchen, and I followed. "She's another Chihuahua. She's pregnant." Her pale eyes lingered on me, her lips pursed. Cue the expectant pause.

I held up my hands, "Oh no, no, no, I am NOT getting a puppy!"

Her smile was small, content, like the Mona Lisa's. "Well, when you see them, I'm sure you'll love them."

I grimaced, "Are we best friends now?"

Killer appeared. Killer Lazarus, as I shall forever know him. He snarled. His big, bulging, Chihuahua eyes sparkled, and he strutted, and kicked as if prepping for a fight.

I'm glad the dog is okay. Hell, I believe in miracles, and I'm glad for that as well. I just want to know what frigging lesson I'm supposed to learn from this.

Signing out.

Friday, September 3, 2010

New Stories

The Umbrella

Flash Fiction about the irrational importance we can sometimes put upon things when dealing with uncontrollable events in our lives.

Ghost Ocean Magazine is a fledgling publication specializing in poetry and flash fiction. Very classy feel to it. Give em a try! :D

The Scapegoat

Micro-fiction. A young girl is abandoned by her mother and left to cope with ever escalating abuse from her brother and father.

Up the Staircase is a sophisticated literary magazine which features regular themed writing challenges and sharp stories that stick with you after you've read em.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Anyone up for twitter sized fic?

Latest acceptance is "The Butterfly War" .

Trapeze Magazine is a surreal, bizarre, steampunk, horror friendly twitter-zine. Give them a whirl!

Also, 6s: Mindgames, which includes my story "Mind Games" is now available on

Monday, July 19, 2010

New Stories

Black Shine Brown

Written in response to the Gulf Oil disaster.

Short,Fast, and Deadly I cannot stress how awesome this e-zine is! :) If you have something sharp to say in 420 characters or less, please give them a try.

I also was lucky enough to win a spot in the anthology 6S Mind Games. My six sentence story "Mind Games" is included. It is only available for purchase at:

Mind Games, at

Six Sentences is a wonderful e-zine. If you have to say it, do it in 6!

Friday, June 18, 2010

My Writings on the Internet.

The Cat Came Back

50 Word Short story about a man, his wife, and the cat she doesn't like.

50-1 is a keen mag which publishes 50 word stories and epic "first lines". Great way to spend the afternoon reading.

The Strange Picture That Won the War

A six sentence story about the image on a photograph.

Six Sentences publishes six sentence prose. If you have something to say, just make sure it's in six sentences!

Goats Eat Moths

Horror flash fiction about a trio of zealous teen shutterbugs who like exploring abandoned houses.

Lightning Flash Magazine is a fledgling publication and you should really give em a go!

Baby Bumblebee

Microfiction about a father who can't quite understand his baby daughter.

Short, Fast, and Deadly posts microfiction that could begin and end in a Facebook update. Each fic posted is like a sharp little needle. Go and read all of the issues!

She Has Moods

A flashfiction about a man and his inability to fully face his wife's degenerating mental state.

With Painted Words posts monthly stories based upon a theme piece of art. It's a cool concept and a must visit!

Promised Land Ice Cream

Short story about a jaded foster child and her determination to stay afloat despite being stuck as an audience warmer on a garish children's show.

Technicolor Magazine is just starting out but their first issue is packed with cool fiction and poetry. Give them some love!

I'd Kill You If I Could

A story told in letters, a crumbling affair and lots of sex. R-rated.

Sleep. Snort. Fuck. has an interesting mission. They only want the fiction you'd write after a somewhat self destructive night of drugs and debauchery.