It’s (not) beginning to look a lot like Christmas

In my head: “Happy Christmas” – John Lennon, Yoko Ono I know that the happy feely spirit of Christmas time is now cliche and overblown in a world where people trample each other in order to buy crap.  It’s an image that we like to believe in, but is diminished less and less every year, when now Christmas decorations go up on store racks barely after Halloween is over. But…

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Duri (#12)

My friend wrote to me in despair. Sure that my words would help, I replied: “You do have it in you. It’s who you are. Because you have friends, lovers, companions, and even assholes all in your corner, at your back. This isn’t a pep talk. It’s a fucking fact. You’re going to make it because it’s what you do. When shit goes bad, you don’t quit. So don’t fucking…

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Mike (#11)

Making the first friend was the hardest. But once it happened, the world was ours. Secret agents communicating via walkie-talkie, and guns blazing through the parking garage. Back to the Future, watched ninety seven times on the big screen. The Professional All Terrain Obstacle Golf Association, where every surface was the green. Nights filled with Talking Heads, Cyndi Lauper, and Friday the 13th. Days filled with Miami Joe Slurpees and…

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Murder (#10)

They secured the area when the body I’d killed was found, refusing to let anyone leave. The investigation proceeded, threads unraveling, and I knew that the evidence would eventually damn me. I tried to slip out of sight to discard it, but one person saw and followed. Impulsively, I pulled him close, firing a fatal shot through his chest. Now, I see the others, having heard, come running. I know…

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On writing non-fiction

I recently had a conversation with a friend of mine about writing fiction vs. non-fiction.  I explained how somewhere along the way I developed an affinity for writing the latter, and when I do write now, that’s most often what I choose. Just today I was looking through an old filing box, trying to find something completely unrelated, and found the pile of old, old, very old writing of mine…

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Wendy Ghost (#9)

The boy’s house sits aside the road, in a clearing surrounded by trees. A full moon shines down on the scene where bonfires burn and revelers dance. Spirits fly upward in a translucent host, curling into the sky. Music plays from somewhere distant, but still heard, for this is the night of the dead girl’s festival. Shadows creep where normally there are none. Age shrouds with dust and web those…

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Oban (#8)

The air was crisp, and the glow of holiday lights illuminated the night as I walked down the street. The warm, welcoming look of the place is what made me enter. It was upscale, but empty, and the bar was inviting. The man behind it greeted me cordially. “What can I get for you, sir?” “I’m thinking of trying a Scotch.” “Excellent. Which would you like?” “I’m not sure. I’ve…

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