Stories tagged writing


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Back in the day she’d have been done for fraud by the church, but now it seems they’re so starved for new congregants they’ll overlook most sins on the spectrum.

Why I Didn't Apply to Breadloaf this Year

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· Frozen chestnuts make for poor bedfellows · Too many people in paisley make me nervous · Three manuscripts strike a pose on the floor of…

Incident at Union Plaza

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A chicken vendor twisted the neck of the bird and held the spasming body tightly, while he threw away the head into a basket underneath the counter.

Soldiers of Christ

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Fridays we’d scour the racks of the newsagents for the weekly comics, always trying to steal the free gifts inside the issues, watching for the shop girl to go into the back for her tea break.

The Thump of Wing

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Perhaps, teetering on the edge of the garage, I might take flight myself over the treetops?

Galway: fog-shrouded mountain.

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Unseen creatures squirm and mingle beneath the soft loamy earth. The flat of the mountain is fog-shrouded.

my ac

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i hated the machine

Down-n-Out in Beverly Hills

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Wicked are the men who dispense enlightenment from the side of the pool, clad only in aquamarine skivvies.

The Prospect of Being Eaten

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One of the old fellows was buying a quart of whiskey, already peeling the brown bag away from the neck of the bottle, when he said to the shopkeeper, “Lives down the swampy end of town. Grotesque. Swear it’s two eyes travel in different directions.”

No Confetti Wedding

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When he drank the saliva dried up and the white crust built up about his lips as each swallow made a sad summer.

Invented Memories of Fatherhood: 1

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It isn’t until I fling the whiskey onto the fire that you roar at me in the manner I recall from childhood.

Invented Memories of Fatherhood: 4

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The only part of him in me could be the teeth: crooked, stained, off-kilter like abandoned gravestones.

Lost at Sea

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Now can see—the coldest fish invigorated by the warmth of his submerged soul. Use those words sparingly.

Invented Memories of my Father: 7

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A surgeon in theater, he laid out his instruments: bodkins, hackle guards and pliers, hair stackers, and fly vise.

Wraiths of Vapor

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The rain hammers the windows, an unorthodox pattern on a sad Sunday morning.