Black Petals Issue #114, Winter, 2025

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BP Artists and Illustrators
Mars-News, Views and Commentary
The Dance of Chloe-Patra: Fiction by Hillary Lyon
Broodmother: Fiction by Damian Woodall
Frederick: Fiction by Paul Radcliffe
Henry's Last Laugh: Fiction by Stephen Lochton Kincaid
Pete the Pirate: Fiction by Floyd Largent
Public Body: Fiction by Martin Taulbut
Tacklehug: Fiction by Cindy Rosmus
Wheelchair Bound: Fiction by Roy Dorman
When Graves Won't Speak: Fiction by Justin Alcala
Air Ambulance: Fiction by Blair Orr
Silent Night: Fiction by Stephen Lochton Kincaid
He Was a Student of the Old Days: Flash Fiction by Zvi A. Sesling
The Panther: Flash Fiction by Rotimi Shonaiya
A Vampire Returns: Flash Fiction by Charles C. Cole
An Invited Guest: Flash Fiction by John Tures
It's Been a Minute: Flash Fiction by Pamela Ebel
The Dead Only Stay Dead if You Let Them: Flash Fiction by Francine Witte
Roses: Micro Fiction by Zachary Wilhide
Song Sparrow: Micro Fiction by Francine Witte
Where's Mummy?: Micro Fiction by Harris Coverley
Evidentiary Discovery: Micro Fiction by John Tures
JLM: Micro Fiction by Paul Radcliffe
Anecdote of the Edibles: Poem by Frank Iosue
Gone Viral: Poem by Frank Iosue
Dolls: Poem by Simon MacCulloch
The String: Poem by Josh Young
Last Dance: Poem by Josh Young
Warm on My Hands: Poem by Josh Young
Last Rights: Poem by Kendall Evans
My Friend Lucan: Poem by Kendall Evans
Mary Black: Poem by Christopher Hivner
Alone, in the Dark: Poem by Christopher Hivner
Deep Field: Poem by Christopher Hivner
Dust Damsel: Poem by Meg Smith
The Lights of The Armory: Poem by Meg Smith
The Cyclops Child: Poem by Meg Smith
The Sleeper's Limbo: Poem by Stephanie Smith
Flight: Poem by Stephanie Smith
Immaculate Chasm of a Moonless Night: Poem by Stephanie Smith

Editor's Page—January 15th, 2025

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This time around, ol' Kenny is surrendering the Editor's page to run an article on writing from Habil Yashar...

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Writing a novel is something beyond horror...

Habil Yashar

 

Writing a novel is something beyond horror...

First of all, it can take months, even years, to think about what topic to write about. Just as you cannot determine when your time will come, you cannot even determine what topic to write about. It is born suddenly - from the impact that some event or some person has on you, or from something completely different. Its birth is so strange that... Perhaps stranger, more mysterious, more mysterious than the birth of a person... The birth of a person is based on certain laws, but there are no rules or any order in writing a novel. How can one write something whose birth is so strange...

Imagine the difference between the feeling of waiting for the next lines with inexplicable excitement when you finish the first sentence, and the feeling of seeing the pages and sheets pile up and finally seeing the completion of a novel... Every line you write, every line you think is perhaps written at the cost of your blood, the ink is just a tool. For a writer, the nights spent writing can be so bright that they don't feel dark, because he is enlightened while writing, he lives while writing, but at the same time, the mornings can be as shocking as darkness, because he is always searching for something to write, always thinking.

It shouldn't be so easy for you to write the fate of every character you create, to have a shadow and always follow it no matter where it is. You put so much life into unreal characters that you don't care about your own life as much as you give it your all. Because, you, yes, you are responsible for the fate of every character you create and you bear a great responsibility for every event that has happened to them or will happen. If non-writers are responsible for their families, and in a broader sense, humanity, then if writers are responsible for each of the characters they create (at the same time, they are also responsible to their families and humanity, like everyone else), imagine the weight of the burden they carry. Aside from responsibility, writers sacrifice even their health for them. But in return, they gain the name of a writer, eternity.

Characters dominate your soul so much that... It's as if they are always around you, in dialogue with you. Regardless of where and when, they won't let go of you, they'll joke with you, they can even judge you and make you cry. Because, non-existent characters actually come to you as if they were real, and sometimes you think of yourself, not them, but rather as a non-existent being, flowing away like water.

Perhaps they are your closest friends, confidants, heroes. Because in each of them there are sparks of your thoughts, of your energy. But along with all this, you have also given them freedom, leaving it up to them to choose in everything. Otherwise, in addition to being a dictatorial writer, you will be remembered as someone who does not respect their characters... Doesn't the existence of a writer depend on the perfection of their characters as well as on their works?

Writing is something beyond horror, just as it is something beyond life.

 

                                                                  Habil Yashar 2020

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