originally published in Spartan, and later included in the story collection, By The Wayside (Unsolicited Press, 2017) My mother loved artichokes. She trimmed the stems and steamed them in a shallow pan. When cool, she paired them with a vinaigrette sauce. One by one we gently...
originally published in Prime Number Magazine; All The Roads That Lead From Home, stories (Press 53, 2011); and By The Wayside, stories, (Unsolicited Press, 2017) Suicides shot up that winter. By Valentine’s Day there’d been four. The victims walked out when the light was low, usually...
The Meaning of The Hat originally published in Knee-Jerk Magazine Even before she became the wife, she was said to lack ambition, direction, and drive. She was happy just to sit and think her own thoughts, scribble in notebooks, try her hand at drawing and watercolors like...
originally published in Book Riot A happy statistic I read recently is that women, especially older, educated women, buy more books a year than men. This confirms that women are good—and essential—readers. As fictional subjects, they’re also well-represented. Women in both novels and screenplays often face...
Coming June 2018, from Unsolicited Press chapter one At first, Lavinia thought Mel was joking. Mel was never not joking. That rubber snake in the freezer last Christmas, during their annual open house. Her husband, Chip, knew he'd put it there. He also knew how Lavinia felt...
originally published in New Pop Lit Do you remember the first time? How the light from that candle seemed to brighten even as the rain fell harder against the pane? It was our first night away together, and the thrill of the cheat was offset by our guilt....
originally published in Sand Hill Review Of course, he hadn’t meant to. No man in his right mind would utter the name of a former lover while having sex with his wife. Diane paused for the briefest moment after he whispered, “Nina.” She must have heard. Why else...
originally published January 1, 2018 in Volume 3, Issue 1 of MockingHeart Review Deluge The white horse grays in the deluge Beneath of the limbs of an evergreen The red-handed woman waves me down She wears no coat against the cold, her rubber sandals Are what you slip on to fetch...
Americans are practical people. We think about profit and loss, success and failure, maximizing our utility, avoiding diminished returns. We’re healthy Capitalists. We live for the business model of constant, steady growth. We seek profits at every turn. What if you’re an artist? Or someone for...
Originally published in New Pop Lit SHELTER The party was at Jackson’s place, at the end of an unpaved road, on the eastern tip of the island. In good weather, it was a forty-five-minute drive from town. The weather wasn’t good. The rain had fallen for three days, sometimes turning lighter, even...