Some of you know Flatline. Thanks to Monkeybicyle, publisher of literary things, for their consideration I didn’t think it was a big deal when my sister Kate started dating a Golden Gloves champ. Sure, my Mom got uptight, but when wasn’t she? And my Dad? Oblivious. He was far more interested in that big tit broad at the office. The thought of his daughter banging a guy who bench-pressed four hundred pounds, someone with seventeen KOs to his name, was …Read the Rest
After too many rewrites to count, I finally placed “When you Sleep” with Static Movement, a “for the love” e-zine and publisher. Thanks, guys The police report is dated June 17, six months ago yesterday. It was Friday night, and school was out. Tim and I were in my Dad’s car, cruising around the lake, on the far side of the tunnel where it crosses under the parkway. That’s where I killed her. I wasn’t high. Tim was smoking a …Read the Rest
Even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while. Thanks to Absinthe Revival for publishing my story, Dancing in the Void. Three days before Christmas, Mary slipped in the shower and cracked her head on the soap dish. I found her a half hour later. The water was long cold and her skin had turned purplish, like an overripe plum. Her speech was gone, and she gave me one of her impatient looks: what took you so long? I wrapped …Read the Rest
Many thanks to Eunoia Review for publishing my short story, “Leaving the Keys.” Tired and dirty, Jimbo sat in the center of an empty kitchen, determined to drink until he felt normal again. Empty cans of Miller Lite surrounded the legs of the folding chair on which he was perched, a chair more accustomed to the vagaries of family gatherings and picnics at the lake than hard ceramic tile. Wrapped around him was the cold blanket of plaster, wood, and …Read the Rest
I spent the entire weekend moving all my stuff to two new sites. Many thanks to the Nordic Warrior Queen for her enduring patience. Going forward, all my make-believe writing will appear here: http://afewyearsinthevalley.com My technical articles are here: http://kipatron.com The existing links on the Writing tab at https://misterass.com will remain in place, so as to avoid HTTP 404 errors (page not found), which I don’t know how to fix. Sometimes the path of least resistance is best. P.S. If …Read the Rest
Johnny sprinted after the westbound Union Pacific, stumbling over the small rocks and blackened scree bordering the tracks. The engine was a distant rumble ahead, rising in pitch, and Johnny knew he would soon be left behind; worse, he would be prone to terrific ridicule from his twin brother later that night. He tripped and nearly fell, but with a final gasping effort reached out to catch his brother’s hand. Charlie swung him up to the rail, clapping him on …Read the Rest
I got an email a few days ago from this ad agency, based in Sweden of all places. They wanted me to go to Chile, to do a story on a gold mine there. Chile? As in the country? True, I’d done work for them before, but why me? She said the regular guy couldn’t go, and they liked the last story I did, the one on the bicycle manufacturer in North Carolina. If I could do it, they’d send me …Read the Rest
The twee little bastard. He’s been around for as long as I can remember, just round the corner, under the bed. He hoards his treasure and plays little tricks, stealing the change from my dresser and hiding my shoes. The tapping of his tiny hammer keeps me awake at night, until I am mad. And if I ever catch him, I’ll make him pay far more than a pot of gold. There at the end of the rainbow. P.S. The Shoemaker …Read the Rest
I like to think that I have a thick skin. When your writing has been rejected hundreds of times, you learn to ignore ugly criticisms – otherwise, you’ll just end up quitting. Still, it hurts when someone makes a nasty comment on a Mr. Ass post, calling me a fool and a moron, and takes a swipe at the Nordic Warrior Queen besides, calling her a “helluva hellenic catch” for choosing to marry me. According to the Bible, Jesus told …Read the Rest
We were way behind schedule. Dancer and Prancer had started my morning off by breaking into the stores of magic corn, and had been laying down some serious reindeer games all day long; poor Rudolph was near tears. And of course, I’d told the team to go easy with the carbs on Christmas Eve, but did they listen? No. Now I was flying over suburban Minneapolis, stuck behind a team of flatulent reindeer while trying to find little Susie’s house. …Read the Rest