For my Seabury friends

I read you four stories this afternoon. Thinking some might want to re-read them,

I thought I’d make them easy to find right here at my blog:

Find Keepsakes, that Ursula and I read to you, ==>>here

Find For Unpolished Beauty, ranching near the High Sierra, ==>>here

Find Time Passing, emphasizing a place called November Falls, ==>>here

And find Strawberries, baking a pie for a lost husband, ==>>here

For a replay of my reading (helped by Ursula Korzenik, go ==>>here

Enjoy! And thanks for giving me an audience!

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True-to-life fiction

There must be at least a smidgen of personal experience in most novels and short stories: The setting, often, and some of the characters.
My Maury’s Mustang is fiction only to protect the guilty: Even though it happened long ago, the government must still disapprove of having its horses poached.    In this not-really-fiction story, the model for Maury was my best friend in college and on the California ranch near the scene of the crime.
His daughter had told me he had Alzheimer’s; I’d hoped to get it into print in time that he might have memory jogged if she read it to him. I phoned her this week, only to learn that I’m too late; he died earlier this year. I treasure many memories of our years together; his first ride on a half-broken desert mustang among the most vivid — one that surely deserves recording. It’s a “Saddlebag Feature” in the thick Winter 2020 issue of Saddlebag Dispatches. You can read it ==>>here

 

 

 

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Listen to the conversation, and imagine the setting

Ordinarily, part of an author’s task is to describe the place, the setting where a story takes place.

Some years ago I encountered a different approach, especially appropriate for the increasingly popular short-short “flash” fiction: nothing but dialogue—not even a he-said/she-said—and let the reader fill in the rest.

Intimations of Mortality isn’t my first in this format; elsewhere here at my blog you’ll find The Whole Truth, Tattoos, Keepsakes, Surveillance and Customer Service. This latest kicked around for a year and a half . . . and then New Feathers editor Wade Fox snapped it up in less than a month. The third print volume of his anthologies is promised in late January, but meantime you can read my Intimations (and others) ==>>here

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A struggle of strawberries

My short story “Strawberries” is a personal favorite that draws on a flood of memories, but it’s had a hard time seeing the light of day. It was accepted four years ago by The Violet Hour, a literary magazine that went defunct a few months later. When I finally figured that out, I sent the story off to another magazine called Aftermath. It, too, went out of business, although it took me long months to discover that my story was still homeless.
Discouraged, I sat on it for more than a year before trying Halfway Down the Stairs, an online-only magazine that had meanwhile taken another of my stories. They accepted it in three weeks; you can read it now ==>>here

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A first try at ‘magical realism’

I’ve never tried my hand at science fiction or anything like it, but Two Sisters (square)when Two Sisters Writing and Publishing opened a contest for ‘magical realism’, I thought of the deep woods where my lifelong pal Steve and I played a bow-and-arrow game in our junior-high years. Two Sisters had published my “Limerence” as a winner in their 2018 contest anthology; maybe I could try giving that forest a voice.
They liked it: “The Daddy Tree” will be in the anthology they publish next year, and meantime is online ==>>at their website

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Old Tippecanoe lives on

So It Goes, the annual publication of the Kurt Vonnegut Museum and Library, invited stories on the theme of “civic engagement”— and welcomed pieces earlier published elsewhere.

Calliope, then the magazine of the Mensa Society, published in 2016 my riff on the political campaign of Tippecanoe and Tyler too, built around the role of an imagined consultant. I offered it; the Vonnegut editor liked it — perhaps for a relevance to this year’s events. It’s out today, available in print here – or read it ==>>here

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Aging among the world’s oldest trees

Canary calls itself “a literary journal that explores one’s engagement with the natural world, based on the premise that the literary arts can provide an understanding that humans are part of an integrated system.” I’d drafted a short story, drawn from my experience herding cattle just east of California’s Sierrra Nevada, that imagined an aging cowboy among the ancient bristlecone pines of that range. An inveterate punster, I called it Bristling Senescence.  It’s out now in Canary‘s handsome online 50th edition

You can read it ==>>there

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Arias in isolation

At the height of the pandemic isolation, I spent an afternoon streaming a favorite from The Met, Der Rosenkavalier — and began dreaming up what became less of a short story than a mood piece. I wasn’t surprised when a half-dozen literary magazines turned it down.

Then I ran across Flora Fiction, which calls itself “a collective of creative muses and inspiration. . . . reconnecting with your inner artistic child.”  Sure enough, they liked it, and its out in their fall issue. You could read my story here at my blog, but the online version of the magazine is so colorfully handsome that it’s worth flipping through nine double pages (enjoy it full-screen!) to read my Harmonic Distance.  Click ==>>here

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A minimum of last respects

I suppose most of us have been to at least one funeral service that was more perfunctory than pious, a farewell for someone few would miss. My Seeing Charlie Off  was inspired, a half-dozen years ago, by such a service. I wasn’t sure anyone would want to publish it — until I ran across Cleaning Up Glitter.  “We are here to explore the Human Condition,” says founder Amy Tortorella Walsh, “. . . anything that explores your life views, existence, mortality, spirituality, conflict. . . .”

So I sent her Charlie; she liked it, and published it last spring — online, in rather small type. You can read it there ==>>.

But now that I’ve gotten the copyright back (after an unusually long six months), you may find it easier t0 read here==>>

 

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