I can’t remember what prompted me to start writing Déjà Vu; someone barging into dinner? It was two years ago, and I set it aside incomplete, then had trouble finding the draft because I hadn’t used the accent marks the first time! Anyway, I finished it and began sending it out seven months ago. An online magazine called “Discretionary Love” liked it, and it’s out now; read it ==>>there:

In the fortnight since I assumed bears must be asleep and dared to resume feeding birds, I’ve had a parade at the suet cakes just outside my window: bluejays, cardinals, woodpeckers, nutcrackers, juncoes and several kinds of sparrows. I occasionally imagine a greeting through the closed window: Good morning, Mrs. Cardinal.

Which led me to imagine someone really trying to talk with such visitors, which led to a whimsical bit of flash fiction that appealed to Open: A Journal of Arts & Letters. You can read it in less than five minutes ==>>here

 

A cowboy’s lariat is a tool of both sport and hard work – braids of stiff hemp, back in the day when I used one, but nowadays more likely of nylon or polyester. Throwing it may look easy in a rodeo, but it’s an acquired skill.

Describing that skill in words proved a different kind of exercise, but I liked the outcome and tried it out on the literary circuit.  The editors of Moria Literary Magazine (Woodbury University, Los Angeles) say they had more than 350 submissions for their new edition; mine was one of 52 they picked.
It’s a five-minute read ==>>here

 

 

When I worked at The Hartford Times, five or six decades ago, we were a long city block from the Travelers Tower. Most decent-weather mornings, some of its occupants spilled onto the sidewalk for a breath of fresh air – or nicotine – with paper cups of coffee.

I suspect times and customs have changed, but I enjoyed remembering those gatherings, and imagining a little fillip of surprise. The editors of the Westchester Writers Workshop enjoyed it, too, and published it in their semi-annual magazine, “Confetti”.
You can enjoy it too, by clicking ➙here

Seems every time I think I’ve finally exhausted the story potential of my three years at a college-cum-ranch in the California desert, another memory pops up.

The power company lineman who served our district was more cautious than anyone I’ve known, before or since: He worked entirely alone in places where a slip or fall would probably be fatal.

The story I concocted about him wasn’t accepted by the first few magazines I sent it to; perhaps too slow-moving, or too grim. Then I heard of Fatal Flaw Literary Magazine, which invited work “that considers the world through a cracked lens”…”that finds poignancy in unexpected places.”

They liked my The Lineman; you can read it online ==>>here
(Just click on the title, just below the cover)
Or ==>>right here

The Lineman