TQR Confidential

Wednesday, December 14, 2016


ROCKEFELLER: Two comma faults, missing hyphens and a tense shift in the first few paras...

waiting for a dumbass, pseudo-medical, drone

a dingy, curtained, bay

The hoarse, cracking, voice

“You gap kneed, crusty clitted, trailer twat.”

etc. etc.

We split a case Natural Light

At first no one even notice me.

TED RORSCHALK: But does it speak you, you fucking grammer nazi? You must be ... you wanna be ... you are! ... hitler!

Tuesday, December 06, 2016


Dear Ms July:

Thank you for your recent submission, Oblivion and Beyond, for consideration by our poorly attired albeit mindbold TQR staff.

We have read and considered it in consultation with the Monkey who simply shook his head. Oblivion and Beyond is therefore deemed a mismatch for TQR.

Thank you for your interest in our publication. We wish you well in finding a home for your CV elsewhere on the planet.


G. DePlancher / The Floor - TQR

Sent while levitating from my own Bright Cloud.

Saturday, December 03, 2016

Hullo Don.

S'something wrong with your prose. Like mabe you've precurssored some sort of zombie wonderland? Not sure. But I don't like it. And I don't like it to a point that I must say it is disturbing. I mean, your capital is so seems seeped in devil-stuff. Not sure i'll be able to sleep for weeks. Shit.

Okay. Just kidding.However, the capital you sent will be shoved into the Porthole, sister. But only because there is something seriously wrong with you.

Keep your salad greens crisp,

Doomey / the Floor / www.tqrstories.com

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Bonjour, Monsieur Steinhagen:

Many thanks for your recent submission, the shining Venture Capital, A Month of National Holidays, for our consideration here at TQR.

Check check check. I am pleased to commend you...or perhaps it will feel more like condemn you?... sincerely, I hope for you it will be the former...on this work that pleased me as a reader and completely subjective scrutinizer of such things. More importantly for our purposes, dear VC, the Great Monkey squealed aloud as I read your work to him via Skype.

What does it all mean? Ask a philosopher who is better equipped to advise you on matters so encompassing as to be described as 'all'. For our purposes, I am but the humble deliverer of your sentence. I mean, privilege...specifically, that we have decided to advance A Month of National Holidays for further sniffing and examination at the hands (or claws, as some feel more aptly describes them) of my smart, literate, judgemental colleagues of The Terminal.

You know what that means, j'espere? It means your work rises up the chute. It means more waiting. It means...let's see what happens next.

It's all I can do for you, besides thank you for your ingenuity, fine presentation, and a decent read.

Merci et bonne chance,

G. DePlancher Currently lost in Inkville / but normally uncomfortably appointed on The Floor - TQR

Sent while levitating from my own Bright Cloud.

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Grondo's Great Success! In the valley of the pickle Eaters

Bonjour, Monsieur Grondo:

First, I read the title. You know I am the blues with shoes, but must remain open-minded and unbiased throughout. Bien sur... Merci beaucoup, VC of dark mind, for your recent submission for our consideration here at TQR, and for the title of said recent submission. All things matter. All things matter.

So phat. So twisted. Trickfully teetering teasingly on the thin line of mundane and then...parsing into the unexpected, yeah yeah surprise. For twenty three seconds, I thought you were on the road of another formula detective thriller. Thankfully, non.

The Monkey is howling still, Monsieur. Let's see what the pickle eaters in the Terminal think of your ink. Dead Memphis Blues rises from the dank Floor and into their waiting claws this date.

Bonne chance,

G. DePlancher / Slush Shuffler of The Floor - TQR

Sent while levitating from my own Bright Cloud.

Monday, November 14, 2016

NOISISM shoulda woulda coulda on the Floor

Hello Kevin,

I examined the capital you sent, and I gotta tell you I wanted to love it. I think it's a good time-stamp for thoughts about what we believe in. But I think this could have been taken much further. The "good" video needs to go beyond what we deem great, and the bad could have gone oh so much more sour, believe me. Tis a good idea, and some other magazine might latch onto it. good luck out there in the metaverse.

Boligard Doomey

the Floor


Monday, October 24, 2016


Bonjour, Monsieur Ferrini:

Merci beaucoup for your recent submission for consideration by the increasingly decrepit albeit proud ezine TQR. I wonder sometimes how it is you VCs find us.

Four Friends is not for TQR, friend. Sometimes it's just a misalignment of...many aspects.

For what it's worth (and that may be nothing at all), I suggest you read the conversation between these four friends aloud. See, I did that, and I just can't hear people voices...not ones I, as a reader, might care about or take an interest in anyway. These are not fully developed people, but caricatures, the circumstances of their meeting and the ensuing exchange never extends its pitch high enough to ring the bell of authenticity. I dunno. Talk to some more women, preferably some with depth and desire beyond snagging a handsome, muscly temporary boyfriend with a good wardrobe. Real people want more.

Ach, what do I know? Maybe try another house. The Monkey here says non.


G. DePlancher / Floor Mopper, TQR

Sent while levitating from my own Bright Cloud.

Monday, August 22, 2016

TQR reviews Tom Sheehan's story collection JEHRICO

One man’s junk … but in Jehrico Taxico’s case it’s not so much treasure as the wherewithal to locate, haul and find a profitable niche for these lost and abandoned properties in his adopted home north of the border.

“The whole Earth is full of things worth collecting and using over again. I seen it done. Nothing dies easy.”

A large iron tub and a not-too out of tune piano fall to Jehrico’s expert salvage and removal mule train, making their way, thanks to his industry and pluck, into the warp and weft of life in Bola City.

Though set in the era of the wild west, Tom Sheehan’s locale has more in common with Andy Griffith’s Mayberry than Wyatt Earp’s Dodge City. Peopled with quirky characters like impromptu abbreviator Collie Sizemore and aptly named town crier Larrupin’ Lou, there’s always a kind of Greek chorus sitting around the saloon just waiting to pass its collective judgment on Jehrico’s machinations. And any fix our hero finds himself in is gotten out of most times by superior wit and cagey misdirection, in lieu of six shooters and hot lead. And fixes he fixes aplenty, not just his own. He even saves his future wife with a savvy bit of horse trading that is a delight to see. Not to mention the bath they communally take in the river once the trading’s done.

“…at the edge of the river, under a growth of trees that formed like an umbrella over one spot, she took off her clothes and stood there at the edge of the river waiting for Jehrico to undress.”

The stories are long verse poetics, where not only the language is beautiful but the outcomes ideal, the bad guys try to prolong their badness, but love and good intentions win out in the end.

Get it on your kindle here!

Monday, August 01, 2016

TQR sub update: Boligard giveth, Doomey taketh away

dearest gustavo, i am so proud of you. published in all those mags. good for you, man! hey, so, listen, the script you sent us did not touch the monkey. which might mean the monkey was in a bad mood, or maybe the monkey was high on something or other. anywhat, you did not jump that first hurdle. better luck next time.

dearest hermester, you can go wrap your lips around another sucker, okay? s'very funny, but not written well.

oh hi bruce, loved the cap you sent. thanks! always here for sleeping over, Boligard Doomey ps. i am not Russian

hey bev, loved the cap you sent over, cool. okay. so, yeah, you're in. check the site now and then. or don't. up to you.

Friday, July 22, 2016

Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz's chapbook reviewed

Straight, the protagonist of WHERE I’LL BE IF I’M NOT THERE, (the title story of Ms. Mintz’s chapbook) has some ‘splainin’ to do: To his lady love, his young daughter and, most importantly, to himself. The crime that got him 3-years incarceration is beside the point, and never specified. The story is about how Straight will react to once more having to navigate the treacherous straits of freedom.

Author Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz writes from a black working-class perspective. The details of many of her stories make one hope that she has at least made up some of the more lurid plot points, seeing as how they involve underage prostitution, incest and murder. Close to half of the stories are inhabited by protagonists who are growing up in fatherless homes, a reality that has plagued the black community for decades. The story where the father is still around is tempered by the fact he is not exactly the father figure you’d typically want him to be: Daddy beat Mr. Bailey dead but didn’t nobody know but me. An excellent example of a killer first line, by the way.

The characters speak a dialect of American English most commonly used by the poorer classes of black Americans. It’s very well done and grounds the reader in Ms. Mintz’s intended milieu. The stories in this chapbook also take some interesting detours from the standard form. THE STORY OF MY LIFE (SO FAR) is broken up in sections diagramming the pertinent parts of a story, such as setting, the characters, plot development, etc. in order to tell the unified story of a girl dealing with the incestuous proclivities of her step father; HUSH CHILD SHHH a moving account of an actual news story about the forgotten slave cemetery beneath the foundations of an old building that was discovered when the building was demolished and the subsequent reburial with due honor of all the bones that were found. The commentary by the ghost of the long-suffering mother speaking to her child interspersed in the factual accounts of the news story makes this a compelling and powerfully cathartic story.

The best of these stories transcends any notion of black and/or white America, instead focusing through the universal lens of hope. The best example of this being the aforementioned title story: WHERE I’LL BE IF I’M NOT THERE. Interestingly, the moment of truth in this story is precipitated by what can rightly be called a father figure. His boss, Mr. Gilbert, leaves the cash drawer in the bakery for Straight to open up with in the morning while he is away.

Mr. Gilbert had added instructions on how to run the register. The paper trembled in Straight’s hand.

Will Straight do the right thing, or take the money and run? This time, his name is true. And Gwendolyn Joyce Mintz, at her best, finds the hope and softness in a world of sorrow and hard edges.