In the pouring rain, across a highway divider in an unknown town, I sit at a red light, listening to the rain thump the car. Gone are the jokes about the cheap hotel room that cut the tension while we toured the tiny downtown where trees squared the block and the rotunda stood tall. I fell in love with the sidewalks so straight, but then we left...
Tomorrow you might be home
hanging out in your pajamas.
and read more about me.
Or peruse the stories and
hear my voice
(I’m not the one singing).
Remember: You Cain’t Do Nothing with Love
First appeared in print in Memphis Magazine, the winner of its 2009 Short Fiction Contest.
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The stories are free, because so many of them have already been published in literary journals. To the extent I would be paid for them, I have been. So you get them for free.
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It’s a little but, I promise.
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What is it with this story? Second reader asks, “Did it really happen? I never know with you—you write so realistically.”
That’s at least two folks believing that, possibly, when I was showing clothes I’d gotten into fisticuffs with a member of the audience. Do I look like a women ready to throw a roundhouse punch?
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Mother should be grateful for an attentive son, but she’s glowering at me, her pug nose crinkled as if I’ve spilled sticky pickle juice on her kitchen counter. Mother no longer owns a kitchen counter, and I no longer am a child with clumsy mitts attempting to fix a pickle and cheese sandwich. Mother now lives in this lovely retirement home where...