grab and go
Daddy was acting like he’d won some sort of prize, giddy and out of breath as he lifted the chair from the truck—the straps flapping and the wires wrapped around the back—and set it down in our front yard. He said the chair was justice, it kept bad people from doing bad things. Daddy said... Continue Reading →
How I got quarantined with Nadja Friess was one-part luck, one part circumstance, all parts awkward. Her parents were out of the country. My parents were out of my life. So that left the two of us, in the hills of Vermont, with a bishop, a handful of nuns, and two sleepy security guards. If... Continue Reading →
We interrupt our regularly scheduled posts for... Justice in a Bottle - Out Now! Today is a day I've been dreaming of for years. My book has gone out to the world. Kirkus Reviews calls it, “A timely, well-executed story of a teen journalist’s determination to uncover the truth.“ I'm calling it...published! Here's the... Continue Reading →
The elevators at Kemper Projects were death traps, always getting stuck, shuddering on the way up, free falling to the ground. They hardly smelled better than the stairwells, and up until a few weeks ago, I never had much use for them. But all that was before Beans wanted me to join his crew. Beans... Continue Reading →
It was the bottom of the fifth, during the Winkton Wingtips/Puttingham Red Sox game—just as the horizon treated the fans of Henkin Stadium to a dreamy pink backdrop—that Jimmy Spencer stepped up to the plate for the Wingtips. Bill Hargis made the call from the booth. “Hey Wingtip fans, remember that Thursday is WPD night, so... Continue Reading →
It's a few minutes before nine and the street is mostly quiet. Errant candy wrappers lay shredded, casualties of dusk, a few goblins and stragglers in the shadows but otherwise dark porches, houses closed up for the night. Only the flicker of the immaculately carved pumpkins sitting on the porch of my old house shed any light on the... Continue Reading →
Writing came easy. Before the deal. When it was just me nothing had to be perfect. Now it haunts me to the letter. I write handcuffed, knowing a deadline lurks. Editors loom. My family persists. So I’m left with nothing. I close my laptop. This isn’t working. My little office. My old town. What was I thinking? That... Continue Reading →
Cliff checked his phone, saw nothing of interest, then tossed it to the seat. He wiped his forehead and got on his way, only vaguely aware of the warbled Christmas carols blasting from the single horn fastened to the top of the van. The music—holiday tunes because his boss got a deal on the music box—took some... Continue Reading →
I’m bad about returning stuff. Sure, the borrowing? Not a problem. But once it enters my apartment, well, it's good as gone. Such was the case with Humble Rhodes, a 789 page thumper of a biography about the first ever transsexual, double amputee, head transplant recipient to receive the Rhodes Scholarship. Don’t ask, if it’s on the New... Continue Reading →
I usually turned on the television and zoned out whenever I visited Mom. I used to be terrified of silence, and her house was full of it save for the mundane ticks and clicks of appliances that only seemed to punctuate our lack of conversation. She was only 56, but she was neither young, or old. She was just... Continue Reading →
Lunch Break Fiction 