The Dark River
_medium.jpg)
It was already dark. We were out on an autumn evening, maybe seven or eight o’clock. I was maybe fourteen, and my church youth group was on a scavenger hunt, a few of us packed into a car to compete against another team from the church to get the most on the list. On the list of items to find, along with things like a french fry from . . .
A Little Higher
When he was three weeks old, my wife and I brought home a baby boy. He was and still is a foster child, a child needing a home, and we chose to give it. Driving home that evening, the little guy buckled into the newly installed car seat, I thought, “What the heck are we doing?” I’d never changed a diaper or given a baby a bottle before . . .
Max, the Wild Thing
When Max was a little kitten, a handful of fluffy little gray fur brought into my house at just a few weeks old, I had the priviledge of naming him. I thought of my love for the children's book Where the Wild Things Are and its main character, Max. I showed my little kitten the book, and he bit the book (I can still see the teeth . . .
Bittersweet Lane
Muncie Noir
“Hey. We got one more delivery for you.”
“Please, not another college apartment,” I thought. “Not another college apartment.”
“It’s on Bittersweet Lane.”
The last delivery was an apartment by campus. I knocked, and I heard a shout through the door, “Pizza’s here!” A blonde with a ponytail in a sorority sweatshirt . . .
The First Date
A Thomasville Story
To keep the fiction-writing muscles in shape, I'm occasionally writing little stories from my fictional town, Thomasville. Each story, hopefully, stands on its own but gives a little picture of what's happening in the town.
Mike looked across the pressed tablecloth, full wine glasses, and shiny silverware, realizing this . . .
Afterword
The Thomasville Treasure
In the spring of 1994, during my final semester of college, I took a short story writing course. It sounded like a fun way to end my college experience, and it was. I still remember the stories I told then, and I regretted that I didn’t have a chance to take more fiction writing classes. 24 years later I asked myself, “Could I still do this, . . .
Chapter Eleven
The Thomasville Treasure
With just a few hundred yards left on the trail and sensing they were near the end of their journey, Mike spoke up, “Is Phoebe going to be home?”
Kenny said, “When we got back to where there’s cell service I saw I had a text message from her saying she and the boys are going to be home tonight. I’ll get there in enough time to pick . . .