Author: Epiphany Ferrell

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Eclipse 2024. And I live in the Eclipse Crossroads of America. On August 21, 2017, the little hippy town of Makanda, self-described as the Valley of the Arts, was the site of the longest duration of totality. This time around, on April 8, 2024, Makanda was the exact point where the two paths crossed. Two eclipse paths crossing the same space within a decade of each other is a super-rare phenomenon—and, considering how many total solar eclipses are visible only in the ocean instead of on land, being able to witness it was truly special.

In my capacity as marketing and recruiting writer at Southern Illinois University Carbondale, I wrote the slogan: Once in a Lifetime. Again. (Yeah, I’m proud of that one.) Isn’t it amazing, though? To experience two once-in-a-lifetime events in one lifetime.

Witnessing an eclipse is unexpectedly emotional for many people. For me, not the least of it is realizing that, as I gaze to the heavens, watching the most significant body in our solar system and our closest neighbor interact so that we are covered by a celestial shadow, so are hundreds of thousands of other people doing the same thing. We are all taking time from our usual lives to witness a celestial event over which we have no control—all we can do is observe. I feel linear time slip away, and realize how connected we are: not only across geography but across time as well. The same awe I feel watching the corona burst around the Sun, I know that someone 2,000 years ago witnessed and felt as well. It’s as egalitarian as it gets. And it’s humbling.

Social media being the ubiquitous commentator it is, I saw some people I know bragging that they weren’t impressed, that even if they were in the path of totality, they would go out of their way to avoid witnessing this. How dull. What boring, self-involved people, incapable of awe, devoid of imagination, thoroughly insensitive to anything beyond their ken. If Nature doesn’t wow you, if you think your tightly controlled world is the only one that matters, if you have no gratitude, I have no respect for you.

But for all those who, like me, were outside, gazing skyward and looking around in amazement at the sharp and then strange shadows, the 360° sunset, the strange moments of darkness, feeling the drop in temperature, the primal feeling deep in your heart that tells you this is something big, cheers. Keep looking up.

By the way, you can certainly find far better pictures of the eclipse. This is mine. I was a bit trembly, so this was the best I could do.

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This dystopian micro first appeared in Ghost Parachute. I love dystopian literature, and have plans for a longer dystopian work in future. What especially fascinates me is what remains—how we try to hold onto culture and stories and how we might incorporate some of the best of our past into a grim, new future. In this story, makeup has taken on a deeper significance. It might be war paint. It certainly is a distinguishing part of the narrator’s life and her people’s. I refer to Van Gogh, O’Keefe, and other works of art and painting techniques. I see them as surviving the unnamed, undefined apocalyptic event, and being incorporated in a personal way in the lives of the survivors who wear the makeup. The story hints at some sort of computer or digital cataclysm, caused by other survivors who continue to live in the cities while our narrator and her people skulk around the edges.

It’s an atmospheric story, and I hope you find it unsettling. My first draft was actually meant to be lighthearted! I got the initial breath of the story while walking to a nearby creek. I was wearing a t-shirt I didn’t particularly like. I was thinking to myself, “Wouldn’t that just figure if something cataclysmic occurred and here I am wearing a shirt I don’t even like when I have a closetful of t-shirts I do like?” I wrote a first draft of this story about a character who really was bothered by the fact she was wearing an ugly shirt and couldn’t easily find something else to wear. This character was extra annoyed at the preppers, as she called them (they weren’t, necessarily) who “thought they were so cool in their camo.” It’s an okay draft, but it wasn’t getting where I wanted to go.

So I decided to try makeup. Would someone care about wearing makeup post-apocalypse? If so, why? And what would it mean?

As I worked on the story and found its voice, I tapped into the uneasiness so many of us are feeling as we see how much of our lives are dependent on technology most of us barely understand. Though the story doesn’t state this explicitly, I was thinking, too, of how easy our digital world has made surveillance and censorship, and how the algorithm contributes to a particularly virulent tribalism of us-against-them.

I filmed at the Kaskaskia River Spillway Recreation Area. In Southern Illinois, where I live, lake spillways are often more natural. I mean, of course they have a dam. But the water flows into a small river or a creek that is often rocky and forested. When the water is flowing, it’s whitewater beauty. I expected something similar here. I forgot how much bigger the Kaskaskia River is than the little rivers our smaller lakes empty into. At first I was disappointed by how much more industrial it all looked. Then I realized it was perfect for this story of liminal areas, between civilization and wilderness.

I should note that the story refers to water pollution. The scene that goes with it in this video isn’t an example of pollution, really. It’s an overflow from a creek that flows under a sidewalk through a culvert into the river. Just water.

I hope you enjoy!

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I grew up in a town where the Pied Piper was (is) a big deal. In fact, because of it, I was a rat in a parade.

My home town is Frankenmuth, Michigan, known as Michigan’s Little Bavaria. One of the town landmarks in the Glockenspiel at Bavarian Inn. The Glockenspiel is a 50-foot bell tower that plays music and tells the story, with the help of carved figures that emerge onto a platform, of the Pied Piper.

One year the kids in my neighborhood entered the annual Children’s Parade, part of the then-weeklong Bavarian Festival, with a Pied Piper rat group, and a Pied Piper child group, with two of the older boys playing the Pied Piper. So… I was a rat.

When I say I have always been fascinated by the darkness of the Pied Piper of Hameln story, I mean it.

In Children of Chicago, Cynthia Pelayo took a dark tale and made it even darker, dark as pitch. In Pelayo’s hands, we have a Pied Piper that is truly the stuff of children’s legends, and the instrument of the kind of pure anger of which children can be capable. This is a story about children killing children. And somehow, it is told with compassion. Unflinchingly, but also with empathy. It’s a stunning accomplishment.

If you are familiar with the Pied Piper story, don’t think that will help you. This is a horror story with thriller overtones, and the mysterious twists and bends that come with a good detective mystery. You might think you have it figured out, and you might, partly. You won’t see the whole thing coming at you, I assure you.

Chicago is as much a character in this story as the children and the detective trying to save them. Calling it a love song to Chicago is trite. But still true. I’ve been to Chicago a dozen times, but I’ve never seen it presented in quite this loving, honest, respectful way. The next time I’m there, I’ll try to visit Humboldt Park. I won’t be chanting rhymes in front of candlelit mirrors, though. No way.

The drink is a mimosa. It was early-ish and I’d had … some beers… the previous night. The place is the Crazy Horse bar and grill in Bloomington, Indiana.

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UNPOPULAR OPINION

I don’t care about the Barbie movie. At all. Well, a little bit, I do. I care that, because I’m a woman, some of you out there assume I want to watch it. It reminds me of how, when I was a little kid, adults assumed that, because I was a girl, I wanted to play with baby dolls and/or Barbie. I didn’t.

Fortunately for me, my parents didn’t push.

I know part of the attraction of the Barbie movie, for some, is nostalgia. That is utterly lost on me. So, for me to be interested, there should be some other draw—and there isn’t one.

I resent the implied message, from so many people all over the internet: If you are a woman, this movie is for you. Because pink. Because Barbie. Because girl power.

Barbie has had about every career a person—man or woman—can have. Why isn’t that empowering? Is it what I suspected all along—just another Barbie costume?

One aspect of the movie that annoys me most—and note I haven’t seen it, but this plot point is impossible to miss. Why is Ken stupid? Is it 100% necessary to make Ken a dolt to show how Barbie is strong and competent? That feels to me like an underlying message that women are only successful when the men around them are fools. I’d rather Ken was her equal, with his own interests and his own life, and they are supportive friends or spouses or co-workers or whatever.

To sum it up: Ain’t buying it. Ain’t watching it. I know my worth as a woman and a human being, and it sure doesn’t need bolstering by a movie playing into tired stereotypes.

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After the amazing Scarelastic Book Fair, I got up early for a morning hike at Fort Harrison State Park near Indianapolis before heading for home. I chose the Fall Creek Trail—good choice! I love running water, and a walk through the woods is always good for the soul.

I tried something different with the video. Since the trail was relatively smooth and level, I tried reading while walking. And filming—three things at once! Woo. I got a bit out of breath toward the end!

When I first started writing this story—from word prompts—I intended it to go a whole other way. I was thinking more Yellow Wallpaper-vibe but told from the antagonist’s point of view. The story did not go that way at all. The characters really took it over and set me straight about what was really happening. I’m satisfied!

I hope you enjoy!

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I just had a wonderful weekend! It started with heavy fog and me driving my least favorite freeway—I-57—and the fog didn’t lift until I was almost to Indiana.

I attended the Scarelastic Book Fair at Scarlet Lane Brewing Company in McCordsville, hosted by author and master brewer Josh Hull. What a great time! A horror-themed brewery, many favorite authors, spent way too much on books (including one I now have two of, both signed…how could I forget??)

Above is most of what I bought. I snagged a few more right before I left. Pretty much my book budget for the year. Well… I mean…. not really. But…

I should mention the beer at Scarlet Lane is fantastic. Highly recommend—the brewery is absolutely worth a visit all on its own.

I spent the night at Fort Harrison State Park Inn, a cool old hotel. It was so quiet I was briefly convinced I was the only guest. I had dinner and a couple more fantastic brews at Triton Brewing Company. And of course, had to have a book with me, since I bought so many good ones. This is Laurel Hightower’s Every Woman Knows This and I can’t wait to dig into it! That beer is their Strawberry Hometown Hero Ale. Isn’t it pretty?

Then up early in the morning to hike the Fall Creek Trail in the state park. I didn’t make those cairns, someone else’s handiwork. But I enjoyed. That’s Fall Creek. Hence the trail name. 🙂

I stopped off in Bloomington, IN for lunch because I wanted to see the town, and also go home a different way. Great lunch. Did a quick read from Quick Adjustments by Robert Scotellaro. I read Interpreter of Dreams, one of my favorites from that great new collection. It’s on my Instagram if you want to check it out.

And then I managed to add almost an hour to my drive time—oops!—by going all the way south to Kentucky before going west towards home. S’ok, it was rural scenery I would not have seen otherwise.

Got home to find that my husband has written a new song that’s pretty kick-ass heartbreaking. So we both had a productive weekend! I hope yours was fantastic too!

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Somewhere I heard the expression “teaching the dead to talk with us.” I don’t think, really, that’s quite what was said. I don’t know that “the dead” were involved at all. But the minute I thought it, I knew I had a story.

I’ve been watching shark videos and reels in the way many people watch funny cats or goats in pajamas. I see people who are shark experts swimming with sharks. I admire them.

And I wonder if there are consequences to messing with the order of things.

I don’t have the answers. Just a story. Here it is.

This story first appeared in Feed Lit Magazine.

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First, I declare I will be more active in posting my published stories here. Most of them are listed in the Recent Publications section, but I will put them here now, too.

This one came in a round-about way from a writing group with friends, as many of my stories do. Remember: It’s fiction!! (Although I have stayed in many a Super 8.)

Thanks for reading!

Preparing to Tell My Parents about My Pending Divorce

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It’s Appalachia January for me! I really love that region of the country, and would like to get to know it better. But for now, here’s what I’ve been reading.

Madame Cruller’s Couch by Elizabeth Massie at Stooges in Jackson MO with an Old Fashioned. Subtitle is apt: Dark and Bizarre Tales.

Brother by Ania Ahlborn at Walker’s Bluff (again) with a Blackberry Whiskey Lemonade. Just when you think it’s gotten as dark as it’s going to get, guess what? It gets darker. For me, Ahlborn is one of the scariest writers out there right now.

Blacktop Wasteland by S.A. Cosby at Walker’s Bluff with a Black Rose cocktail — a high octane heartbreak of a book. I’m actually about two chapters from finishing it. I’m slowing down because the high speed making me race too fast!
NOTE: OK. I finished it. Might be the best last sentence ever.

Happy reading! Read horror! Read flash fiction!