My, still, presently untitled work of fiction
“I’m telling you, there’s something to this. There’s enough stories floating around about the Thomasville Monster, something had to happen,” Mike said.
“You know what my Grandpa said?” Kenny replied. “He said the Thomasville Monster was for late nights at kids’ slumber parties when they told stories in the dark with a flashlight . . .
My Presently Untitled Story
I haven't written any fiction since I was in college. We'll see if I'm able to finish this, but here goes:
As he closed the heavy, almost medieval, door to the stone Presbyterian church Mike asked, “Is Kenny in?” Beatrice, Elm Avenue Presbyterian Church’s secretary since the 1960’s, watched the front desk of the church . . .
I’m sure all this seemed like a good idea at the time. Most online articles (including this one) and social media posts have a way for readers to respond. “Let’s have this forum for people to share ideas and stories and then give a chance for others to add their thoughts and opinions” was probably the well-intentioned thinking from the early . . .
Many years ago I struggled through a harder ministry, doing my best just to survive. Ministry always has its challenges, but this church was hard, and I was giving it all I had but still felt like I was failing. A new pastor started at a church down the road. That church was healthy and welcoming of new leadership. He began serving there, and . . .
Choose Your Own Adventure books were video games before we had video games. Today we play video games that allow us to explore created worlds, going on adventures and making decisions on the path through those created worlds, but in the early 80’s video games were simplistic one-screen exercises in shooting down or avoiding the bad guy . . .
Reflections on the Desert Fathers
I preach most Sundays. We all have moments in life where our own lives seem strange to us, and when I think about my life it usually seems a little strange to me that I do this thing of giving sermons almost every week. Almost every Sunday I’m there in church with a word for the people. The clock keeps ticking and the calendar keeps turning, . . .
Reflections on the Sayings of the Desert Fathers
When I lived in Buffalo, New York I’d take the city bus to the airport for trips. I walked almost a mile to the bus stop, rolling my suitcase behind me. Something about that,the mile walk at the beginning and end of the trip, told me, “You’re on a journey.” Putting one foot in front of the other said, “You’re going somewhere,” or “You’re . . .