Things happen. Not for a reason. Not with a purpose. They just happen. Things…happen. This river for example. In 1932 there was a group that had come 100 miles for a mass baptism. They’d heard the tales of the women around here, the stories of six sisters who were powerful and old and who took… Continue reading Happen – story
The air chills quickly as the sun slowly makes its way from its throne up high in the heavens toward the darkness far below and then a fleeting sleep. An old man groans and stretches himself as the sun slides away – his legs lifting up and moving out from under his rocker and over… Continue reading Old Folks – story
Apple Sauce and Rodeo Clowns This wasn’t my dream. This wasn’t my fantasy. This wasn’t what I spent hours thinking about and planning for when I was a kid. Dentist. Fucking dentist. Who wants, who dreams of being a dentist. Who dreams of years and years of college so you can become a dentist. There’s… Continue reading Apple Sauce and Rodeo Clowns – a story
Flower Pot Silence was our bond. Nothingness was our partnership. Loss was our lover. Yet here we were. The silence has become a weight between us that neither seems strong enough to carry or move. The silence is an ocean neither of us can swim across. This silence is an umbilical cord wrapped tightly around… Continue reading Flower Pot – story
Yeah, so if you're a writer I guess that you are supposed to chase after this grand notion of a Super-Fab novel that is going to change the city, state, world and the whole damned space-time continuum. Eh, count me out. It's not that I don't want to write the sort of a story or… Continue reading The Great Old American Whatever the Hell It Is…
I have to be honest, I can't even fathom what it'd be like to have fans. And by fans I mean people that are not related to you, or are not friends or lovers of you. I just can't imagine it. Not even in a self-deprecating way. Just can't do it. I know that as… Continue reading Fanfare…
crutches- A fly buzzes aimlessly around the ceiling fan, darting craftily between the blades as the fluorescent lights hum absently to themselves. A police car screeches around the street corner and the blinded widows stare after it. The waitress pokes her head out of the kitchen door and then pulls it back in when she… Continue reading Crutches – a story
I guess my dad was right after all, I’ve lived all this time and I’m nothin’. Nothin’. I never had anything spectacular happen to me, no heroic war stories, no tall tales of runnin’ from the law, no scandals, no nothin’. I sit around here most days and wonder what the fuck happened to Time,… Continue reading Father – a story
Altar heart torn free, bleeding, beating, dying and dead. mouth wide and falling, like hope, to gather dust and become one with the detritus. in my head the phantom echo, murder murmur of the fading beats. my eyes sink into my skull, boil, erupt, explode into infinity leaving me not starfield but blackhole, which whispers… Continue reading Altar – story
ah, yeah, that question. the question that's at the heart of every writer that puts pen to paper, finger to key. sure, the bigger question is, naturally, what if they don't care, but cripes, that's the fear everyone with a passion has. i mean, you write for yourself, yes, up to a point, but then… Continue reading But what if they don't buy it?
Faceless Angels The blood and tears ran together and met beneath the boy's nose and hung there, above his lip, before finally splashing below to join the growing pool. He knelt before the other boy, two years older, twenty pounds heavier, and not even breathing hard, and watched as the crowd around them shrank… Continue reading Faceless Angels – a story
there's something i have felt for a while and i have tried to ignore but it's become harder as i have gotten older. that thing is the perception that a writer is - 1. not an artist and 2. not a thing of quantifiable value. first things first - i don't consider my writing to… Continue reading What if they don't buy it?