Writer | Journalist | Storyteller
An ongoing series of things I would like to do, but most likely won’t, so I have decided that these would be good things to write about. 6. Produce A Play The stage setup would be fairly stark, a minimalistic expression of the world. It won’t really matter, because no one will remember much about the staging once the actors appear. Tom Waits, Sam Shepherd and Sam Elliot. Shepherd is dead and he’s irreplaceable so I’m going to substitute Nick Offerman. The gravitas of these three voices are...
Tuesday, February 23, 2021 This is a partial list of things I want to do, but probably won’t, so I will write about fictionally so that I’ll feel like I did. Not a complete list but I will continue to add to it as I think of them. 1. a bookstore called LMNO First of all, it needs a lazy cat with no interest in the outside world other than lounging about and being stroked by strangers. It would be a mix of new and used books, but a curated collection of just the best in all sorts of...
This is the beginning of a Novel/novella which I am trying to decide if I will continue to write or not. It’s nowhere near finished. One No one remembers exactly when the taco truck rolled into town, which is odd because normally that’s the kind of thing that kicks up quite a stir in a small town like Cape May. It was 2020 though, and as you may recall the country was in the middle of a shit storm that seemed to be pulling the country apart, and rumors were flying that murder hornets had...
I wasn’t there the morning they found old Bill Yawley with a knife in his chest at the fish camp, but you can be sure I heard all about it when I got back. Story went, and this was from several reliable sources, someone shoved a filet knife straight into Darryl’s chest, clean through his yellow rubber waders, and either he fell back into his chair or he was sitting when he got stabbed. Don’t really matter much either way. They found him sitting there, on one of those cheap, white plastic...
“They go flat,” she said. “What goes flat?” I asked. “The cats,” she said and motioned to the old black cat laying on its side on the deck. She sucked on the crab leg she was pointing with and continued, “They go flat in the summer.” I looked over at the cat and it did kind of look flat. Like someone had a let the air out of it. “Yup,” she said, “Darndest thing. We were on the back deck of her house, eating crabs. The table was covered in newspaper. A few dozen blue claw crabs, smothered in old...
“So she looked at it and said, ‘What the fuck is that supposed to be?’ And I said, ‘I don’t know, this was your idea,’” said Dave. The guys laughed. Dave, Frank and Carl sat together at Fred’s on a Wednesday afternoon. They’d known each other since grade school. Sometimes they met for lunch and even though it was the middle of July, Fred’s was cool and dark. Frank had always complained that it was like a cave but in the summer when you worked outside all day, it could be a welcome relief. The...
Back before the accident we’d always go surfing on Sunday mornings. He called it going to church. “Come on, let’s go to church,” he’d say. “I’ll call you in the morning. We don’t want to be late.” Then he’d laugh and slap his knee like he hadn’t said that a thousand times before. He was big knee slapper. I can still see him, riding along in the passenger seat of my old pickup, drinking a Red Stripe, the wind in his hair, the wrinkles in his face from years in the sun even more pronounced when...
He sits in a booth in Uncle Bill’s Pancake House. The corner one near the window. He gets there early before the crowds and gets the same thing every time. It doesn’t matter what it is. Just that it’s the same and that there aren’t many people. He doesn’t like the people. He doesn’t even really like Uncle Bill’s. It’s overpriced flour and water, he thinks. Still, he doesn’t have the will to make them himself, and the waitresses are cute. Mostly. He flirts with them sometimes, when he’s feeling...
Writer | Journalist | Storyteller
