Fiction

Recent stories in print, in Parcel and in Paper Nautilus:

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“Play Me that Stardust of Bitter Goodbyes,”  [order here]

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“Tornado Flakes” [order here]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Weeks Without Rain

An English drought is two weeks without rain. I read that in a gardening book. But gardening books, like other books that tell you what to do next, often lie.

Two weeks isn’t long. I’ve seen summers when the rain stopped in March and didn’t return until November. I guess that would make all of England one big desert. But drought tolerance can be more widely distributed than people expect. Climate zones shift, transplants take hold. Invasive species become native, and the other way around. People intervene. People you don’t expect to make any kind of difference, they step in when you’re not looking. For better and worse.

The Fantasist

Graduation

The room was full of people, thirty of us, forty. It can’t have been that big, but it felt crowded, like a bus. Every chair the family owned and many they had borrowed ringed the walls. Dining set chairs, high backed, with chrome or metal piping frames, in sets of four or six or eight: red Naugahyde, gold, whitish with sparkles.  . . . Atticus Review

Miss Guide

Birders are quiet. . .  Oblong Magazine

Fishbowl 

Back when we were rich, my father bought a cabin in the mountains and a big black Mercedes like a tank. He bought ties in every color of the rainbow so he could match his fish. He bought wool suits cut by hand.    issue-19-cover1.23-150x150

[read more: Eleven Eleven 19, available from Small Press Distribution]

 

 

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Cloud Seeding in the Andes

I wasn’t supposed to go down by the cemetery, but I wasn’t with a boy. I was with Ana Inés and her cousins — we were looking for unguarded guavas — and then I was alone. So I was the only one who saw the plane, weaving and wobbling with a sound like a hive of bees about to explode or a lawnmower pushed way beyond its limits — a sound too small for an aircraft, even a puny little two-seater, but a noise that signaled engine-in-trouble even to me.

[read more: Literal Latté (Spring 2015) Cloud Seeding in the Andes]

Contraband

My first memory: the Panama airport. Not first in my life, but first that stands out from that trip to Ecuador when I was eleven. We were going to spend a year there; the way it felt, we might have been leaving the country for good. I remember a contraband runner at the departure gate, shiny hair starting to thin, arms stacked with watches, wrist to elbow. By now, the memory has been embellished with the trench coat wings of thieves and perverts from a thousand newspaper cartoons–Hey, lady, wanna buy?–and I wonder, what was he wearing under there besides watches? Boxer shorts, maybe, or a hand-tailored suit. A Superman t-shirt and tights. [Necessary Fiction (featured story, week of  October 22, 2014) Contraband.]

“Falls Only a Collector Could Love”  Necessary Fiction (featured story, week of April 10, 2013).

Detourswinner of the 2011 Burnside Review Fiction Chapbook Contest, was published by Burnside Review Press. I’ve included a few samples in blog posts; one is here.  detcover

“Stones, Buoys,” appears in Stone Canoe 4 (2010).

“Globe Oranges” appeared in Bellingham Review in spring 2004 after placing as a finalist in the 2003 Tobias Wolff fiction contest.