New Published Flash Fiction + Interview! – The Ginger Collect


Hi everyone! I am happy to announce that Issue 6 of The Ginger Collect is now live. This issue includes my flash fiction story The Night the Wind Knocked Back. This is a favorite of mine, & I’m so happy that it has found a home. This is my second time being published by The Ginger Collect & the editors are awesome, so be sure to submit your work to them!




I was also interviewed in this Issue. This is my first interview & it was fun to answer questions about my piece. I hope you enjoy! You can read that here.


Thanks so much! Have a great weekend! Happy reading & writing!



The Nostalgia Tapes #8 – “Released”





The Nostalgia Tapes #8 – “Released” // by Jennifer Patino


Dreams. Dreams of knives being driven into me. I know the faces of my enemies, who wield my failures in front of me. Who taunt me with old lines I fed them to make them stop. I find myself here, at a bus stop. I have a brown paper grocery bag full of clothes, toiletries, & instructions from the hospital. I’ll throw these away when I finally walk to my destination. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to live my life. It started raining as I ran to the coffee shop. Waiting for the bus would have taken way too long.

I meet a couple in love & a lonely old man outside. I think they think I’m homeless, & I suppose I am, technically, since I’m this odd puzzle piece that can’t seem to fit into any mold shaped for me, but for now there is an awning above me so I am sheltered. The sad widower mentions there will be a storm tonight.




I keep my friend awake too long. She’s kind to let me stay, & she understands that some days I just won’t sleep. Some nights I’ll need stars to calm me down. Some nights I’ll need the same song on repeat. Sometimes I’ll wake up bleeding.

From the knives. I avert my gaze from them every time. They’re too tempting. I live to prove to myself that I am not dangerous. I live to prove to others that I am still very much alive. Those who wish me dead are still out there somewhere. I think too much about whether or not they’re thinking too much about me. I close my eyes. Death in a dream is my destiny.


Note: “The Nostalgia Tapes” are a collection of short prose & poetry that I’ve been working on for about three years. Honestly, I don’t know when it will be finished, or how it will be released once I do finish it, but here’s a bit of prose from it. Also, the good folks over at L’ÉPHÉMÈRE REVIEW were kind enough to publish “The Nostalgia Tapes #1 : Joyride” last summer. You can check that out here



This writer is a member of The Literati Mafia.



Omertà 3

The literati mafia

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part III

Silence is seen as a treacherous doubled-edged sword in my tumultuous mind. I never knew what silence meant in my daily life. Since a little girl, I have watched my family delve into anger and confusion over money and disagreement. I have seen people stab me in the back as I grow older, letting emotion cover every fiber of my being as i’m lost in my own sense of noise. I have seen those that don’t know one true fact about me, talk down about my hopes and dreams. It floods my mind in waves. For when I heard conversation behind my back, I knew it was words in which would cover me in blood and agony.  I was finally cleansed. I forgot about those that used words to hurt each other, or hurt me. I began to find silence was spectacular. I didn’t…

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Omertà 2

The literati mafia

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part II

there was a time when it would settle, a threadbare mantle covering all the things that buzzed and hummed inside, demanding stillness. but now it is the rasp of snoring children, the score of tires on asphalt, the whisper of birch leaves. it does not cover so much as it permeates from the outside in. penetrating skin and fascia and muscle and bone until there is no more to traverse unless it were to exit. and that it will never do on its own. it is still made to settle, preferably in the supple bowl of my diaphragm, until breathed out by forces beyond control. only then is it reality, when it has been stealthily captured and exhaled in the guise of my own air. only then can i call it silence. and that silence is the enemy of mine enemy, welcome yet conniving…

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Omertà I

A Literati Mafia Collaboration :

The literati mafia

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part I

In the end, everything is silent. Maybe that’s why I hated it so much, I’d always liked beginnings so much more. My flat when my parents reached the end of the end of their marriage was like being a character in a silent movie. We might as well have been in black and white. I laid in bed, waiting for them to start shouting, arguing, reading the same old script they’d been reciting every single night for years when they were foolish enough to think their insomniac daughter had fallen asleep. But it never came. There was nothing left to fight for. The war had ended and they’d both lost, claiming my childhood as a casualty. I never thought I’d miss the fighting, but somehow the silence was worse. My own relationships are plagued by all the things left unsaid, silence where there should…

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Poetry – “Origin”

Please read my poem “Origin”, originally posted over at The Literati Mafia.


Featured Image -- 1812



The literati mafia

Just underneath the surface of my shame,
I can feel a pulse nibbling

Yes, life eats at me,
raw, difficult to digest

I am an anomaly in the process,
I am a diseased mark on my name

I sleep on shoulders for I
am a burden to endure

I am filled with boulders,
yet I stay afloat

The water is pure,
so it rejects me,

lukewarm & unsure,
I am spit out

from a mouth of venom,
& beneath a death shroud,

a premonition,
I become a free-spirited woman’s

product of prophecy,
& I spend my life

trying to shed her skin,
but her sin won’t leave me

© Jennifer Patino (2018)

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Poetry – “Less Likely”




Less Likely // by Jennifer Patino


I add more opera music to my playlist
because they say classical music makes me
more likely to access my creativity
and makes me less likely
to die by scrolling

by a mesh of words or a melee of memes.
Wars are being fought in cyberspace and
the year 2024 isn’t so far off. It will be the future

soon. I’ll have a ball somewhere in a mind mansion
with black and white checkered floors
like my prom date had. One of them. One of them

played me like a game of checkers. Child’s play.
This is the past now. This is what the fear of distance
or closeness or whichever comes first does. We are

all time travelers at some point. Starting point. Get
to the point. I had to tell young people about Princess Diana today.
About rigged elections. About a time when not everyone had
the internet. About how to look past the surface of a person

and see their soul. I learned you can’t teach empathy. I lost a little hope.
But I find it again in the tunes of a time I’ve never set foot in. I think sometimes
I can remember times (places) but I’m not sure I was always there.

(we’re not talking about prom anymore)

I am less likely to understand Italian operas. German operas. The Ojibwe language
of my ancestors. I am less likely to understand what makes one person feel
so little and another feel
so much that their resting face is that of near-crying.

I am less likely to listen to the songs of my youth by the time the future gets here,
because things move way too fast for me and the air, heavy with tension, makes me less likely to see and hear things clearly.



This writer is a member of The Literati Mafia.