Nomadic Graphomania

by Sharon Mertins


Incidental Tales


It began with a pencil sharpener, the one the boy used in front of her that morning. It began with the incessant turning of those blades, peeling every layer of wood around the tip, smoothing it out completely and leaving that liberating woodsy scent behind…

Continue reading at Visual Verse

If Ever Something Happens

If Ever Something Happens

In this house, there is always music coming from the chimney, syrup dripping where there should be coffee, spider webs decanting where there should be wine…

Continue reading at Cafe Irreal

We’re Not Dangerous

We’re Not Dangerous


The building used to have a decent little library. At least that is what it looks like it was. We all felt compelled to explore the remnants of it at the beginning, looking for literature that was fitting to our state of mind, convinced that if we exercised our social knowledge, filled our brains with philosophical thought, maybe we could stop whatever it was that seemed to be affecting us…

Continue Reading in Jersey Devil Press

How to Make Stories

(This little story was read at one of the readings at Another Country Bookshop and is dedicated to all my fellow writer friends and the beautiful, magical stories they’ve shared with me.)

How to Make Stories

It starts in a basement.

You and many others are sitting there, have been sitting there, for ages, listening to stories. The stories are being read by invisible voices, and they demand your attention.

The thing is, even though you don’t know it yet, you will be tested.

Continue Reading at The Wild Word

Or read it on the Wild Word Anthology, a delectable collection. You can buy it here

Suki’s Unabridged Journey to the Train of Thought

Suki’s Unabridged Journey to the Train of Thought

It was on a summer night that Suki jumped out of that train and into that basement, not a winter one. She remembers the stale cigarette smell, still feels it scratching the back of her throat as she talks about it.

The rooms were filled with graffiti and brimming with loud music. Suki sashayed through the narrow, smoky corridors and crowds of people, every so often wiggling her hips to the rhythm of Guantanamera…

Continue reading at Literally Stories



The Night I Died

Bella-Pic-The night I died
Image by Bella Rock

The Night I Died

Washing up liquid, tent, sneakers, movie soundtracks, beer…

I died last night. I have no recollection of the accident that killed me, if there actually was one, but I died. Of that I’m sure.

Continue Reading at Leopardskin and Limes


When I have a fever I still feel like I must write; to draw its ugly face with words and rat it out to everyone that wants to punch its face with me. But when fever comes by, it doesn’t like to be mocked. It grabs my wrists and pokes my bones and this is all that comes out: the few words above that I can manage to type..

And somehow a memory of Michael Wolf’s Tokyo Compression…

Tokyo Compression by Michael Wolf
Tokyo Compression by Michael Wolf
Tokyo Compression Revisited by Michael Wolf
Tokyo Compression Revisited by Michael Wolf


Moonlight made me lose my creativity and drown in a pool of sleepless exhaustion. Moonlight made the little people in my head panic and throw the files of my life ALL OVER the creative department floor. They’ve announced a delay in creation until further notice.        Love affair with sleep It’s not the first time it happens. Moon has been up to these tricks before. And as the little people now believe to have witnessed a fantastic occurrence – what a human being would call a crush, infatuation… even love – most of them have fallen into a state of catatonic ecstasy, refusing to carry on with work. Continue reading “LOVE OR MOONLIGHT”



It is a bright green, wide-eyed frog sitting comfortably on the top of my head.

It pulls the strands of hair as one would the reigns on a horse, and it guides what I think is me in the direction that I go. It croaks instructions that I don’t know I hear and leads me into situations that can sometimes be amusing and a lot of the time outright absurd. Continue reading “DESTINY IS A FROG ON MY HEAD”

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