Recent Works

The Hearts of the Fathers

by Jeanine Bee, art by Melissa Clark,

My dad thinks he only taught me one thing growing up. Every chance he got he would remind us, “Kids, never fight a monkey.” I’m not sure what internet video or TV special he saw about fighting monkeys that prompted him to make this his motto, but it is something I’ll always remember. Once, our home teacher shared with us a moment he had when he reminded his daughter of one of those oft repeated Mormon adages. Something like “The spirit goes to bed at 10:00,” or “Modest is Hottest.” His daughter had heeded his sage advice and, of course, avoided something major, like an explosion at a nearby gas station or a freak tornado. After that story my dad said, “I wish I had taught my children something worthwhile like that.” My brother and I piped in, “Dad! You did teach us something important! Remember? ‘Never fight a monkey!’” My dad looked a little embarrassed at our praise. Continue reading…

Excerpts from Early Mormon Journals: Christmas 1835-1859

by Various Authors, art by Nick Stephens, "River Rim"

Jonathan Crosby, recent convert and visitor to Kirtland, 1835
I paid for the entertainment, and then walked about town and went to the temple; it was not finished. This was Christmas Day and I was invited to a feast. Patriarch Smith, the father of the Prophet was there giving blessings, and told me when I got moved there with my wife he would give us blessings.

Luman Shurtliff, Nauvoo resident preparing for the trail west, 1845.
The temple now was nearly finished. On the 25th of December, 1845, Christmas, my wife and I received our endowments. Continue reading…

The Fall

by Katherine Gee Perrone, art by Melissa Clark

(Five people are interlaced tightly together on top of a tall and narrow platform. They are swaying back and forth. A few are making the sound of the wind. Each of them is a leaf, but let’s not give that away just yet.)

Leaf 1: Is it just me, or is it getting colder?

(A gust of wind blows them all to the left.)

Leaf 2: Yeah, it’s getting colder.

Leaf 3: I’m just fine.

Leaf 4: That’s because I’m blocking the wind.

Leaf 5: Stop complaining. Let’s just focus on staying on, all right?

(A gust of wind blows them all to the right. Leaf 2 nearly blows off, and Leaf 5 catches him by the shirt and pulls him back.)

Leaf 5: Whoa there!

Leaf 2: Man!

Leaf 5: See what I mean?

Leaf 3:Good thing we have each other, right?

Leaf 4: Mm Hm.

(There’s silence as they sway back and forth.)

Leaf 1: Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it? Continue reading…

Boneyard Song

by Mark Penny, art by Ashley mae Hoiland

Down to the boneyard went the child to play
Rake-a-long snake-a-long
Laughing all the day
Laughing in the ashes
Leaping on the stones
Hiding in the graveholes, building with the bones Continue reading…

Three Excerpts from “The Regeneration and Eternal Duration of Matter” (1838 or 1839)

by Parley P. Pratt, art by Susan Gilgan, "Luminations"

1.
From the Mosaic account of the creation, many have gathered the idea that God created all things out of non-entity, — that solid matter sprung from nothing. But this is for want of reflection, or an exercise of reason on the subject; for instance, when a child inquires of its father, saying, father, who made this house? the father replies, the carpenter made it. Again, the child inquires, who made me? the father replies, the Lord made you. Again, the child inquires, who made the earth? the father replies, the Lord made the earth, and all things upon the face thereof. Now the child might suppose that the carpenter created the house without any materials; that he brought it into existence from nothing; and so, with equal propriety, he might suppose that he was formed from nothing; when in fact he was formed of materials which grew out of the earth.
And with the same degree of impropriety we might suppose that God made the earth from nothing, when in fact he made it out of self-existing element. Continue reading…

Digestion in the Garden

by Darlene Young , art by Traci Osborn

Cherries and pears, pomegranates, peaches
apricot syrup that zings through the bloodless
veins, courses down to your Achilles and back again
to the dancing heart still cycling backwards.
Parsley, asparagus, kumquat and kiwi
and sometimes potato for big belly sleepiness.

Enough, if you can learn to love the yearning,
trust the manna, never hoard. Call it good,
sweet aching empty, then the filling, then the spending–
like the tides, like the branches waving in the wind. Continue reading…

A Vote That Matters

by James Goldberg, art by Nicole Wilkes Goldberg

Every community has beliefs which, though ridiculous from a strictly rational perspective, still play an important role in the community’s ability to function. Take, for example, the American emphasis on voting in a Presidential Election. From a mathematical perspective, the odds that any one vote will change the outcome are astronomically small (in most states in most years, whole cities’ votes could be misplaced without effect).

But voting for a President in any country isn’t actually about choosing the President. It’s about expressing your belief in Democracy, your faith in the doctrine that true authority comes from the consent of the governed. It’s about stepping up and playing a role in a story you’ve shared with your fellow citizens for months or years: you vote to put yourself in the crowd of community members who are ritually featured at the climax of a recurring national epic of competing values.

We vote less to influence an outcome than to witness that we belong in a certain story. Continue reading…

Waiting

by Katherine Cowley, art by Andrew Kosorok, "Inspirer of Faith (Al-Mu'min)"

Without fail, something always went wrong during visiting teaching. As her sons Tyren and Luke ran into the room, Jayla glanced at the holographic control in her eyepiece, hoping her old computer could handle the projection layers. Luke stopped running, squinting at the layered space. He reached through the projected space and picked up a large plastic airbus, making it visible on all layers. Luke threw it straight at Jayla’s visiting teacher, Luciana. The toy went through her head and bounced harmlessly onto the floor.

“Sorry Luciana. Luke has an obsession with throwing toys through visitors.”

Luciana smiled. “My kids do that all the time. Last week my uncle actually came over and Tiago thought he was a projection. Luckily he only threw a rubber ball.”

Jayla chuckled, and then clutched her rounded belly, biting her lip as she felt the strength of the contraction. Soft music began playing in her earpiece, fading as her skin relaxed and the cramp beneath her belly lessened. The contractions always came in sets, four or five an hour, enough to make her wonder when the baby would come, but never enough to go to the Birthing Hospital.

Luciana looked concerned. “Are you sure you don’t need me to come over and help? Three weeks until your due date—the baby could come anytime.”

“I’m fine, really. What were you saying about earthquakes?” Continue reading…

Avek, Who is Distributed

by Steven Peck, art by Lloyd Knowles, "Sentience"

Elder Windle stared at the visor on his desk with dread. He stroked the edges with this finger and made a couple of motions to put it on, but resisted. Had he really exhausted all options? He uplinked to his wife. Avoidance.

“Hi Sweetie.” He thought carefully. She did not like it when he turned on StraythoughtAssist®. When he filtered his internal vocalizations before they were broadcast, it made her feel like he was hiding things. Kids these days could think out conversations to each other without letting stray thoughts intrude or be accidentally exposed, things better left hidden were hidden. Oh to be young again. But he, at only age 132, had to rely on gizmos to help him communicate.

“Dear, you’re d’straking again, I’m hearing your whole ‘Kids these days/gizmos’ lecture.”

“Sorry. I just called to let you know I’d be home for dinner.”

“You are always home for dinner.”

“I know . . .she always sees through these . . I wish I didn’t have to tell Avek the news. . . Sometimes I don’t come home for dinner when the brethren have late meetings . . . But I’ve tried . . Really tried . . . and this is one of those times I will be home for dinner.”

“Ok Dear, turn on your Stray-Assist, you’re bleeding thoughts all over the place.” Continue reading…

Release

by Wm Morris, art by Traci Osborn, "Prairie Fire"

Davvid Gates took a long walk once a day. This was allowable under the Alternate Forms of Exercise Provision section 23 (conducive to continued mental health) so long as he kept to public thoroughfares and his thought patterns showed no bursts of activity in forbidden zones.

Davvid never consciously planned out his walks. All he knew was that at some point during the day his lymph nodes would begin to throb and would continue to throb until he had made a complete circuit of whatever route he was supposed to travel that particular day. As he walked — usually along well-traveled corridors teeming with citizens — he would occasionally reach out and brush the wall with his fingers or the back of his hand. Sometimes he would feel compelled to turn his head towards someone hurrying by and exhale quickly through his nose. Continue reading…

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