My apologies to anyone named Chad. I don't write much about my relationships prior to meeting Susan. Possibly I subconsciously think these stories aren't interesting, but more likely it's a defense mechanism. If I don't write about past girlfriends, they won't write about me. Although Stacey, who I dated unseriously for only eight months, has … Continue reading Chad
Creative Nonfiction
Vomit Draft
I started writing about the weather. Really just the temperature. I thought I could craft a whole essay on what temperature is considered most perfect. The one Goldilocks would love. Seventy degrees, not too hot, not too cold. But then I started thinking about how Americans are just about the only people who use the … Continue reading Vomit Draft
Cheesy Western all the way
I drank too much. That’s my excuse. I drank too much. I try to be an accurate reporter, a memoirist who remembers, but during that stretch, age eighteen to twenty-one, alcohol gets in the way. I’ll do my best, but I won’t guarantee accuracy. During my four years in college, among the hundreds of party … Continue reading Cheesy Western all the way
Eight Ways to Improve Your Writing*
Six months ago, my career as a mountain bike coach ended with a sloppy tumble over the handlebars. My coaching stint was on its final lap anyway, this was Eli’s sunset season on the team. Now he’s building his own cadre of riding partners as a budding adult. And I got an extra forty-five days … Continue reading Eight Ways to Improve Your Writing*
Davey Fend
At what age are memories reliable? We lived on Ridge Road from ’67 to ’70, just four short years, but loaded with memories. Moving away in third grade helps me pinpoint my earliest memories to that house. I have a few that predate our tiny brick Bethesda, Maryland home, but those memories are snippets, snapshots. … Continue reading Davey Fend
Stewing Poison
Spewing poison. Do you know this phrase? It came to mind riding home from the doctor’s office tonight. I’m spewing poison! My mood sucked. Bad vibes leaked from my pores. Susan kept reaching over to hold my hand, not talking because I didn’t want to talk, not talking because she didn’t want to hear what … Continue reading Stewing Poison
Dead Space
I was twelve when Bad Ronald first aired. American TV network ABC played it as an afterschool special—a ninety-minute movie aimed at tweens like me. They loaded it with commercials selling cereals and toys and other TV shows I might watch later that night. I can’t remember the specifics, but I imagine a frigid January … Continue reading Dead Space
On Personal Essays
Trigger warning: Disturbing description of childhood death. As we pulled into the parking spot, I found what I searched for all these years. Boxes and bowls trying to look haphazard, the kind Susan and I bought for our first house, shabby-chic; mailboxes, mouths gaped like baby birds begging for worms; a ladder, handmade, stolen from … Continue reading On Personal Essays
The Date
All alcoholics have a date. The recovering ones. When was your last drink? I’ve talked with people twenty years sober, they can pin it down to the hour. I can’t. I’ve never had a date, or never known one. It was a Sunday in January. The tenth or the seventeenth. Today or next week. It … Continue reading The Date
iShower
I took a shower!!! Confetti-cannons fire. Balloons drop from the ceiling. Strobe lights flash and sirens scream. The crowd erupts in cheers and applause. Conversation: Nephew: I shower twice a day. In the morning and after I work out.Me: You Americans shower too often. I used to be an American. I started each day with … Continue reading iShower
Loss
Susan’s mom died last week. It came out of nowhere. Jeanne was well, grocery shopping at Giant with Susan’s father. Her energy dragged. She sat on a wooden bench by the pharmacy while Al finished gathering the groceries. It’s been a rough year for her. Bouts of confusion led doctors to suspect seizure activity. She … Continue reading Loss
More stories about crows
The wait for sandwiches drove me insane. When we placed our order, they said to expect forty-five minutes. We grabbed a couple bags of chips and two twenty-ounce sodas and picked a table. We settled in, the four of us, onto barstools around a raised table. Each of us beyond hungry because we hiked through … Continue reading More stories about crows
I Killed the Crow
Trigger warning: All kinds of disturbing stuff in this one. “I shot the clerk. I shot the clerk.” In a pivotal scene in the sleeper classic My Cousin Vinny, Ralph Macchio of Karate Kid fame is wrongly arrested for killing a convenience store attendant. When first accused, in utter disbelief, Billy Gambini, played by Macchio, … Continue reading I Killed the Crow
Subluxation… Again
Not my shoulder, I don't see a doctor for this. Sigh. Another Saturday afternoon on the couch nursing a boo-boo. Someone added a new mountain biking obstacle—a bridge of logs lined up perpendicular to the trail, maybe seven feet long. The bridge doesn’t actually span anything, the only purpose is to have fun. Like a … Continue reading Subluxation… Again
Ghost Story
I’m sensitive. No, really, I am. I’m a grown man scared of ghosts. Eli’s horror movie phase only lasted about a year. As a young teenager, he blew through an extensive list of well-known titles. The Exorcist, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, The Shining, et al. Trying to participate, I suggested we watch the 1982 film … Continue reading Ghost Story
Goldbricking
Eli left for work at seven yesterday and didn’t return until six-thirty last night. Sophie came home from a weekend away yesterday, popped out of bed this morning, her birthday, and drove off to educate a gaggle of kids in animal science. Susan, excused from attending work in-person, trades off remote work and managing our … Continue reading Goldbricking
Katherine Dunn gives me a poke
The guy pulling the strings over at the Other Stuff isn’t doing his job. Generally, I resent bloggers making excuses for their absences. They all start with “Sorry I haven’t posted in so long…” and end with “I’m back, and I promise to do better.” Hollow promises. These self-chastising posts always represent a predictable step … Continue reading Katherine Dunn gives me a poke
Jeffrey, Eat your Beans!
. My dad called me. “Jeff, do you know Allie Winston?” “No, I don’t think I know that name.” “Well, boy, he sure knows you!” Since my stepmother died, my father has been trying to find ways to fill his days. Initially, he immersed himself in the arduous task of wrapping up her affairs—selling her … Continue reading Jeffrey, Eat your Beans!
Admitted
I drove into one of those industrial parks that sit out beyond the suburbs. Buildings lined the street in various stages of construction, off-white concrete, nondescript. Gravel parking lots surrounded by ten-inch-high curbs still awaited macadam and white lines. Yellow construction vehicles, all types—backhoes, dump trucks, bull dozers, steam rollers—scattered throughout the complex. Wide, desolate … Continue reading Admitted
Junk Shops
Dammit. I can’t find that post. I searched the blog for flea market, junk and vendor. No luck. No patience either. I want to write, not browse someone else’s blog looking for a post I might never find. I read it during my transition phase, shortly after I attended the West Virginia writer’s workshop. I … Continue reading Junk Shops
The Other Stuff 