Welcome to my blog for writing. Here is where you will find an archive of short stories and essays I have written. Many of those stories were published at a blog I have since taken down called Clintonaut. Many of those... Continue Reading →
Looking forward to reading the short story I wrote inspired by Bach's Cello Suites, entitled The Queen's Cookfire. Learn more about incredibly talented Natalie Helm, and the other extraordinary collaborators, on Natalie's website, here.
Read it when the anthology is published, and more important, read the work of the winners and support literary journals and magazines whenever you can.
He puts the cigarette in his mouth and lights it with a match, letting the match burn as he continues speaking, “I didn’t even give you a name, Inspector. What could you possibly arrest me for that I won’t deny by the time we walk out of this office?”
The Mercury pulled into the station with a sigh of the brakes and a dramatic release of white steam. Again, Ned Billows joined the men on the platform in low hats and denim shirts and set to moving sacks, pallets, and barrels to and fro. It was here that the small crew -- the engineer, the fireman, and Ned Billows the brakeman -- took their lunch. It was also the first time the crew of the Mercury saw the gunmen of the armored car.
The Great Northern had left Grand Forks before the dry, yellow prairie was touched with the sun’s first light. By mid-day, the whistle was crying long and loud as the train chuffed out of the weathered Sioux Falls station, heading southbound towards Wichita across the dismal plain.
“Whatever it is,” Jim says. “It can’t be bad enough for you to want to get it through who knows what the hell past the Black Line.”
Also want to urge you to see the documentary on Mister Rogers, if you have not already: Won't You Be My Neighbor? It really is something special, the best thing I've seen on the big screen in a long, long time.
It’s true. The strong kid, laser beam girl, iron-skin guy -- they have all been rumors for so long. Took better than a dozen years, but I finally got a source on the inside. No one too high-up, no one special. But I got blurry pictures and some details out of it. Once that was out there, my site blew up. Just a matter of time before there was a knock on the door.
The place, though, isn’t as bad as the noises I can hear on the other side of the wall in the first stall. I wouldn’t admit this to just anyone but it would give me nightmares. If I slept.
