Brandon Getz

 

 

 

FP
Fiction and Poetry
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PW
Professional Writing
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PE
Professional Editing
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White People

The husband—Mr. White, my wife called him—mowed his lawn in shorts and a t-shirt. Mrs. White sunbathed on a plastic lounger, big moviestar sunglasses covering her eyes. She never turned a shade darker; if anything, her skin and hair became more radiant. Midge and I would argue about this, me insisting that the wife was whiter, Midge replying that Mr. White was the brighter of the two. But when we saw them side by side, framed inside their open front door, when we took over a plate of macadamia cookies, any differences in whiteness were only a trick of the light. A certain shadow on the cheek or the elbow. The white people were simply an absence of color, from their eyebrows to their fingernails, white as a blank sheet of typing paper.

Read more at The After Happy Hour Review

The Number 9 Train

The train arrived with a hydraulic whisper. Women shuffled first into its wide airlock doorway, several men behind them, Ethan last. As the airlock hissed shut, he turned and touched the cold chrome door as if looking for a doorknob, an exit button. Through its round porthole, the brightness of the station blurred and disappeared, giving way to the black of the tunnel, then to the gray ellipse of morning.

Read more at Paragraphiti

Skins

I perch myself on the steel stool beside the worktable—needles, pliers, penknife, and thread spools all laid in a row on its chrome surface. When I press my boot on the foot pedal, the conveyor belt cranks and whirrs, and the morning’s first load of assorted critters rumbles toward me. I start in on a ratty-looking jackrabbit, hoping to keep a steady pace and clock out a little early. It’s Taco Tuesday, and the girls are expecting chimichanga kids meals for dinner.

Read more at Burrow Press Review

Blondie (Poem)

Beached What Found in NYC is Dead

-CBS news headline, 12/27/2012

What is it on the shore among the cockle shells and sea grass,
the beached thing, swelling, gulls pecking at the sores: this question
straining to breathe under its own gravity. 

Read more at Burningword Literary Journal

Robot on a Park Bench

When the first snowflake fell on the park, it settled on the robot’s heavy, bolted jaw and froze in place.  By then, the park seemed almost empty: the dying homeless man, an old woman dragging a little flat-faced dog, a jogger in gray sweats with white wires in her ears.  Across the river, two park workers were raking leaves into big black bags.  A young man with a beard walked his bearded dog past them and onto the footbridge.  The bearded man and the bearded dog: somewhere in the banks of the robot’s circuitry played an old television laughtrack.  The two bearded animals turned toward the river, the smaller beast sniffing loose duck feathers on the concrete.  They passed the robot without realizing he was there; he was part of the landscape.

Read more in The Delmarva Review, Volume 7

Franky Stanky & The Monster Cock

The night before his arrest, he’d looked particularly pathetic stuffing jewel cases at the kitchen table.

“Put a clean shirt on,” I told him.  “We're going out.”

 He shuffled over to the duffel bag he kept all his worldly belongings in and buttoned a bright orange polyester number, emblazoned with white disco daffodils of all things, over his t-shirt.   We met some women I knew from work, including Sandy the Dish, who was notorious for giving it up to even the sorriest-looking salesguy.  

“Nice shirt,” Sandy said to Frank, spilling a little of her martini as she leaned over to speak.  “You like flowers?”

Read more at Crack The Spine

Unicorn Tears

On one demure plastic woman, I see a red lace-hemmed slip, the type of thing I imagine I would feel sexy in, the type of thing I think Jake would like, would want to watch me slip out of or rip off me in a fit of passion.  Before I can imagine it crumpled on our bedroom carpet—or worse, hanging in the closet with the tag still on—Jake calls my name and holds up a small bottle.  I can’t read the label.  

“This is priceless,” he says.  “Like lube for nerds.”  He thrusts it toward me, pinching it by its skinny ketchup-bottle neck.  On the glossy label, a white cartoon horse smirks and winks, its pink tongue lolling to catch a single tear from its cheek.  A silver horn spirals out of its forehead, separating the two words of the product name: Unicorn Tears, printed in loopy cursive.

Read more at The Ampersand Review

Bio


Brandon Getz was born and raised outside Pittsburgh, PA. His first stories were about monsters that he drew with his crayons. Monster tales then led to hand-drawn comic books bound in construction paper (ages 8 & 9), his first book without pictures (a 64-page handwritten science-fiction story called A Dangerous Dude, age 10), his second (Codename: Blades, another sci-fi narrative about space commandos, which took him more than 2 years to complete), and high school years rife with rhymed poetry, sad song lyrics, and a couple of morbid short stories. 

Throughout his undergraduate years at the University of Pittsburgh campus in Johnstown, PA, he continued writing, publishing stories and poems in the campus literary journals, in addition to acting, directing, and writing several one-act plays. He earned his bachelor's degree in English Writing in 2007 and began an MFA program at Eastern Washington University (Spokane, WA) in 2008, where he was a fiction editor for Willow Springs literary magazine and taught creative writing to at-risk and homeless youth. He was also the emcee for the Spokane Poetry Slam, forging a literary partnership between the MFA program and local poets.

Since graduating with his MFA, Brandon has lived in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and Philadelphia, PA, re-settling in his home city of Pittsburgh. In 2013, he began editing book-length manuscripts for Dorrance Publishing (Pittsburgh) and transitioned to working full-time as a freelance copyeditor in 2016. He continues to write poetry and fiction, publishing in various print and online journals. He is currently working on a story collection and a serialized adventure novel about a werewolf in space.

 

 

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All Content Copyright Brandon Getz 2014