The stories on this site are representative of the nonfiction I published in the 1990's. "Fire" appeared in the Widenor Review, "Noon Day Sun" in the Chicago Reader, "Extended Care" in the Chicago Reader, "Fish' in the Ozark Mountainer.
Fiction Writing Workshop
Nonfiction Writing Workshop
In The Light of The Noon Day Sun
I can only cry if I let myself cry, which comes perilously close to saying I only cry if I make myself do it. Because of this, when I woke up crying in the dead of last night, I was once again filled with that sense of having come face to face with my own hypocrisy.
Already my sleep had been going poorly. It was not dreaming that brought this on, simply a state of mind in which the thoughts of the day and the days before it, persisted in the place of dreams. There had been a problem with the dog who is becoming old and dangerously incontinent, and there was my wife's latest X-ray which the doctor had shown me, delicately referring to the shadow that would not quite go away as "the disease," and there was my own growing sense of helplessness before the stern hand of fate, and so, whether for the dog, or my wife, or myself, or simply because it felt good, I cannot say; I was crying.
She's on her back when I enter, mouth open, eyes closed, gown hiked up, her half naked legs twisted unnaturally to one side. She is as still as death, this woman who is my mother, and just that cool to my touch, but then, before I can go on with this, before I dare think what I am about to think, she opens her eyes.
The Fish That Sank The Boat
Something was going on down by the dock. For the last several days the guys from the Department of Conversation had been out shocking fish, and now they were standing by their boat in a way that made me want to see what they had in it. Shocking fish is one of the things you do when you work for the D.O.C. They have this generator aboard, and an outfit that looks like an oversize rake with dangling foil strips that they take out to a likely spot, lower into the water, and turn on the juice. ZAP! Whatever was swimming below is now on the surface, stunned. This way the D.O.C. can gather up fish, count them, weigh them, and keep whatever really impresses them in a live well for some later use they could probably explain better than I. They get paid to do this.
Somebody Found a Body