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benjamin j kirby

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Benjamin J. Kirby

Rip Crowley in Fox Osage

The older one released the cylinder and spun it once. Then he tipped it back, emptying the six chambers of the cylinder. Then he let one shimmering, gold bullet in between his black-dirty thumb and forefinger, and loaded one chamber.

Standing Up in the Age of Trump

Donald Trump has been in office a couple of weeks, and he is already redefining the words "failure" and "disaster" as they relate to presidential leadership. Honestly, I've never seen anything like it. But I am also a little bit hopeful.

Book Day: Treasury of Norse Mythology Review

We devoured this book. Each night with me, we read a chapter. They're relatively short, four or five pages, and so each story is just long enough for a before-bedtime read.

The Mediocre Chef: Roast Chicken

Roasting a chicken in the slow cooker is not only one of the easiest things you can do, it's one of the best. Do it right, and if you have kids or company, they'll think you're a star (not a... Continue Reading →

May Our Sons Be Better Men

I do believe that the arc of the moral universe bends towards justice, but change does take time, and it's often a fight.

Amelia Dare, Baby Girl Detective: The Case of the Heavy Patsy

In this line of work, you have to know when to use the carrot, and when to use the stick. Thud was nearly twice my size though probably a month younger. All he’d have to do is fall over on me, even a little bit, and I’m pretty sure I’d break. I motioned O’Shaughnessy to watch lookout – see any of the Biggies coming back into the room, distract. He knew what to do.

The Unopened Box

The older bald man sits in a light-rose wingback chair. What look like two security guards stand behind him, motionless. They haven't taken off their sunglasses yet. It doesn't look like they're going to.

The Prince and the Unicorn

In the clearing ahead, the brush rustled and the pebbles at the edge of the stream registered the sound of hooves. As the blood in his veins turned as black as the evening shadows, he steeled himself for the shot. And for his final choice.

Forging a Path Ahead Through the Trumpland Wilds

About twenty-five years ago, my parents bought several acres near the edge of Pulaski County, Arkansas, a forty-five minute drive from downtown Little Rock. The property is beautiful, most of it wooded behind a small pond where my parents have... Continue Reading →

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