Spitball Army

Here it is, late June in Alabama, and the forecast is for thunderstorms practically every afternoon, temperatures consistently in the 90s, and high humidity 24 hours a day. It is under these conditions that I find myself meeting my good friends A. & E. for lunch at a brand new Birmingham eatery named, ironically, Melt. […]

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from Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947-1954: Thank you, dear Lord, for the work You have given me, the which, barring angels on earth, I dedicate to Thee; and slave on it for Thee, and shape from chaos and nothingness in Thy name, and give my breath to it for Thee; thank you […]

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RIP William Windom, who led me to read James Thurber, which inspired me to write a story for my Sophomore English class which received a 0.

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In New Mexico, writers drink Negra Modelo. In Mississippi, writers wear seer sucker suits. In Montana, writers go fly fishing.

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Tom Wolfe’s pocket square / Mark Twain’s ice cream suit / Ernest Hemingway’s rifle

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Here is a short piece of mine that was recently published at Postcard Shorts (“As much as you could more or less fit on a postcard,” according to the online journal’s submissions guidelines.).

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This piece was published in 100 Word Story’s August edition, though the online journal printed the initially-submitted draft.

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Approximate playing time: 80 minutes.

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Approximate playing time: 47 minutes.

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Can you get an idea about what is happening in this work-in-progress by reading its word cloud?

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