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  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The synchronicity of his heartbeat matched the beat of the stereo system souped up from a downtown pawn shop pounding from behind the bushes. He always put the music in a discreet place so that it seemed his hands were snatching every pound, every synthesized roil, every verbal acrobatic trick out o...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    “Hey, kid,” he said, his voice scratchy as a victrola--scrubbed by years of smoking to keep the stress of his own brilliance down. Even though stress might not have burst as much as it wanted to, the cigarette wisps curling from his lips had carved silent lines in his ruddy face, a dead giveaway...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    August face almond-colored, like skin 'round a mosquito bite Playin' my violin on the back porch One finger up, working to grab the sound Wailin' like a starling in twilight Pumpin' sorrow like oil My brain's curtain from daytime. Gettin' back in bed, like an oyst...
  • Nonfiction > Interviews
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    To Write Love On Her Arms, or TWLOHA, is a growing ministry helping young people fight depression, suicide, and other relevant issues facing youth today in modern culture. This is an interview I held with Jamie Tworkowski, who kindly agreed to share some information about this spreading passion to r...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Looking back, as though elapsed time was creeping behind our shoulders, I couldn’t help but wonder if, when we held you, So small and tiny with heart stuttering, we tried not to think of the end. That fairy tale had just begun, we couldn’t see past our newly-acquired joy wrapping us like warm...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    You want to kiss the streets of Manhattan and hold its grease-slick sidewalks to your chest like a pretty girl; you felt the pull of a road strung with lights like a Mexican living room strung with red and green peppers all asking you to stop, go, slow down, slow down and feel the rain thud on your...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    If I want to pet my cat, who often makes himself conspicuous on my overturned novels, thick crime thrillers with their spines staring mournfully and flashily at the naked ceiling, I lean over. My skinny arm strains and stretches and I can see the muscles ripple beneath pastel, almost anemic skin, my...
  • Nonfiction > All Nonfiction
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    I think somewhere down the line we forgot how to breathe. Now we’re falling into a tear-wrenching plummet, bottomless as the nihilistic paper you read and analyzed in Philosophy 1, abstract as what we pour agony into and call art, distracting us like the rap music pounding in your ear buds. We don...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The taste of coffee soaping up my tongue, channeling the caffeine to drown the unsettling fingers of doubt that have been spreading through my mind ever since I met Michael. I have been a pastor for…too many years now. I lose track. But I know what typical teenaged boys are supposed to act like. I...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Chilly rain sizzled along the creaking bus door as the driver deftly punched a couple controls and stared through a film of weary impatience at the glimmer of headlights tracing bulging veins of glow in the foggy dark. A quiet cough hit his aging ears and his head turned, a few wisps of a long wooly...

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