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Last updateTue, 06 Aug 2013 2am

Matthew C. Funk

Matthew C. Funk

Matthew C. Funk is a social media consultant, professional marketing copywriter and writing mentor. He is the editor of the Genre section of the critically acclaimed zine, FictionDaily, and a writer for FangirlTastic and Spinetingler Magazine. M. C. Funk's work features at numerous sites online and in print with Needle Magazine, Howl, 6S and Crimefactory. He is represented by Stacia J. N. Decker of the Donald Maass Literary Agency.

Tuesday, 29 May 2012 01:36

Free Toy Inside

“Let’s get you pregnant,” Dustin said as he led Sammy by her hand to behind the stadium. “Then they can’t keep us apart.”

“Our families hate each other, though,” she said, cheeks drawn and pale above the elastic fringe of her Junior Varsity cheerleader collar.

“If we have a baby, we’ll be our own family.” He set her on the exercise pads thrown out by the dumpster. Sharp smells of locker room garbage draped them like the shadow of the athletic building. Everything seemed damp, even in the midsummer dusk.

Monday, 24 October 2011 18:19

Needlemen of New Orleans

May finished getting ready and came out to find Granmere burning down the kitchen. She had just put on her rouge, the final touch that always put May in a putrid mood. Opening the off-kilter bathroom door shoved a curtain of smoke at her.

Sunday, 25 September 2011 17:59

Kentucky Runners (Part II)

It was night at the retired stable building at the Dew Red farm when Boone saw Stagger Lee again. This time, Stagger was right where he’d hoped he’d be.

Stagger Lee’s Escalade was scarcely visible in the back-pasture darkness—just nervous glints off its chrome. Boone parked his Buick and made for the sliver of light splitting the barn doors. His footsteps were silent through bluegrass thick as butter slices. He moved through darkness oiled onto the land.

Sunday, 25 September 2011 17:54

Kentucky Runners (Part I)

“How could I pass up an offer of trouble?” Stagger didn’t shift from staring through his mirror shades as Boone sat gingerly beside him.

The boy was no longer a boy; Stagger had filled out since Boone last saw him, now muscled with pure meanness. Under a flowered shirt rendered in black silk, Stagger Lee’s bulk swelled like one of the third-year thoroughbreds on the field: Every muscle pulled long and perfect for lunging. Neck hard against an unseen yoke.