Brandon Getz

 

 

 

FP
Fiction and Poetry
Read More
 
PW
Professional Writing
Read More
 
PE
Professional Editing
Read More
 

Second Page of a Letter Dated March 7, 1983 (Poem)

me with a broken arm, and Ronnie with a concussion, too.  I told the cop it was a sledding accident.  He looked at our name like he knew, but you weren’t there so he couldn’t see your knuckles, and it was just my word he had to take.  You were still gone when we got home.  Put Ronnie to bed and turned on the twinkle lights.  Set your mother’s Perry Como record on the player, then plucked each red glass bulb from the tree and stepped on them one by one.  I walked across the boxes, too, the packages I had wrapped in newspaper funnies that afternoon.  Fell asleep on the couch, your bottle of bourbon empty between the cushions, and the next morning, I hid the bottle in the crisper with the pumpkin roll.  When you asked, I told you Barney must have chewed up all the ornaments and smashed Ronnie’s gifts.  I blamed the dog and the full moon.  Even when you took Barney out back and the shotgun woke Ronnie, who (and we laughed about this later) thought you shot Santa, I couldn’t tell the truth.  You never looked at me close enough to see the cuts on my feet.

But, baby, I’m sorry I ruined Christmas.  

                      Love, Charlene

Originally published in Thin Air, Spring 2012 Issue 

Calvary (Poem)

Dogwood pollen clumps with rainwater on the sidewalk, 
and we leave a trail of yellow footprints. You reach
for a low branch, behead a single white 
blossom, press the petals to my hand and say, Smell that? 
Like sex in a rainstorm. 

Read more at Ghost Ocean Magazine

Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before

Rows of pawns flicker blue like stove flames on each side of the board.  Behind them: blue projections of inbred royalty, bucking stallions, twitchy bishops, crumbling castles.  Tiny gouges and cigarette burns perforate the board’s surface; brown water-damage blobs and coffee-cup rings bleed over the black and white squares.  All game pieces are the same ghost blue.  God and the Devil know whose pieces are whose.

Read more in Versal, Issue 9

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.

 

 

Contact

This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.    

All Content Copyright Brandon Getz 2014