The skies are grey here in Michigan. It's damp and the wind is tickling the trees, shaking loose an occasional leaf. In years past, a thick carpet of leaves obscured the ground by now. This year there's only a light scattering of them. I'm trying not to panic. Today is Halloween, a day that many … Continue reading a scattering of leaves
Ask the Dust is John Fante's 1939 novel. The story follows Arturo Bandini, a young struggling Italian-American writer in Los Angeles, who tries to gain the life experiences he thinks he needs to write the great American novel. He falls in love with a Mexican-American waitress who is in love with a bartender who despises … Continue reading thoughts on fante’s ask the dust
She wasn't strong enough to manage the pain of every terrible thing she saw. She could only look at her feet while carnage ensued around her.
Most people I know love love love the Fall. "The colors are beautiful," they say. "The cooler weather is more comfortable," they say. They're kidding themselves. Fall is essentially one part Summer's dramatic death knell, one part gloomy descent into Winter, one part Winter lying about its name. Sure, the beginning of Fall is spectacularly … Continue reading autumn trickery
I bask in the glow of a conquest. I entered the most mysterious and impenetrable realm of automotive black box voodoo and came out the other side a wiser, more confident car owner. One week ago, the only thing I knew about fuse boxes was that a grid of colorful fuses plugged into the top … Continue reading the mystery when lights go out
Every Christmas, the two sisters were each gifted a doll that had the coloring of the other. Beth, the elder sister, always coveted Maddie's doll. She yearned to have a doll with hair like the light of the sun and a dress the color of cotton candy. Instead, Beth received the Latina version of the … Continue reading the gift
I first heard of British novelist Angela Carter when a professor teased me about being famous. (My name is the same as Carter's.) Of course vanity made me curious about her writing so I vowed to read some of her work. It only took 30 years to get around to it. Shadow Dance was Carter's … Continue reading thoughts on carter’s shadow dance
When the nightingale sleeps, she wanders over a shifting desert, her bare feet in a moving embrace before, burning hot, the sand won't release. She falls, her face kissed by golden grains that she breathes in with forced affection until her lungs are full of love.
Have you ever noticed that people who believe in the existence of bigfoot are skeptical about UFOs and aliens? And UFO believers might buy into the idea of ghosts, portals, and interdimensional travel but not bigfoot? I'm guessing they all think people who believe fairies exist have a few screws loose. Wouldn't it be strange … Continue reading paranormal overlap
Her fingers worshipped each curve and hollow on the pilgrimage over his body, a holy meditation that delivered her to the divine.