All posts in Writing

August 19, 2020

“Writing the Song,” A Short Story by Carole Langille

I met Van and another man at a party and though I was attracted to the other guy, I called Van. That’s how I did things in those days. I wrote lyrics, Van told me he wrote melodies, so when I suggested we get together and go over some material, Van invited me to his small duplex on the west side of Manhattan where he had his piano. That first day, sitting on his couch, watching this tall guy with broad shoulders and curly brown hair play such wonderful melodies, I was happy. He looked like a cowboy, tall and lean, with his checked shirt and leather vest, his dark moustache, but an intellectual cowboy, his green eyes very alive. Years later, when I saw a film with Samuel L. Jackson, I thought they looked…

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August 17, 2020

“The Leopard’s Good Idea,” Poetry by Mark A. Murphy

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

The Leopard’s Good Idea or Costume Change The pen is mightier than the sword. Behold The arch-enchanters wand! – itself a nothing! – Edward Bulwer-Lytton 1 One day the crafty leopard hit upon the neat idea to turn out his old wardrobe in favour of a whole new look. Out went last season’s winter warmers as if a change of pelt might bring about a change in personality. Nonetheless, the inclination to swindle outweighs any kindness. So, the cheating and subterfuge runs its course, until the cheat and the cheated part company in the face of wild promises and denials. 2 Now we journey to the end of time to ascertain whether the pen really is mightier than the sword, only to find what we always suspected. …

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August 11, 2020

“Pool Boy,” A Short Story by John Beyer

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

The concept did not come as a lightning bolt out of the sky, striking my cranium instantly. But more like a slow buildup of storm clouds on the horizon. The ones that leave a person wondering if inclement weather was in fact on the way or would fizzle into nothingness. Weather is like that sometimes, much like thoughts, ideas, or dreams. Nothing to do with reality at the moment but perhaps in the future that reality would truly become real. That was how it was with the epiphany I could make a lot more money if I turned my career into something deeper if not more sinister. I grew up poor, angry and disillusioned in Forest Park in Detroit. The small neighborhood bordering Wayne State University had high unemployment and those lucky enough to be working had some of…

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August 9, 2020

“Meteor Shower,” Poetry by Mark Hammerschick

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Meteor Shower Canvas black the eternal oil spill galactic dark matter speckled waves of crystal diamond sky ruby, emerald, sapphire lightspeed silent night bright terminal velocity eyes focus straining in the dark time as seconds, minutes, eons stretch galaxies into small hands that even rain cannot feel for in feeling we begin to fall headlong into night riding the meteors of our past knowing the showers of our future will smother those small hands someday not even the rain has such small hands Smokestacks of oak, hickory and birch lurch in the balance of sleet and snow on a confused Sunday in early May as my woods fill up with snow. It’s a snowy evening tucked away on this Highland Park cul de sac hugging Lake Michigan’s shore as the gales of this Spring day recall the final…

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August 6, 2020

“Party Boy,” A Short Story by Lee Anderson

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

I’m alone at a charity event in Patricia Yeo’s new Midtown eatery. Shirtless, chiseled busboys and lanky, large-breasted servers run lightly about the restaurant, carrying trays the size of manhole covers. The place is gold-trimmed and supported by Roman columns but a terrible place to have a party. Not enough room. We’re ass-to-hip in here practically. I meet gazes with Celine about ten minutes after I arrive. She approaches me without hesitation. I actually don’t think she’s ever hesitated a day in her life. “Uh-oh,” she says. “Lazarus Fucking Cooper. Is that you?” “Last I checked.” “Well, there’s no telling what’s going to happen now.” “We’ll have to be careful.” “Yeah, you attract bad energy. I’m a lily caught in the rapids with you.” “I see you haven’t changed.” “Does anyone?” A hyper-paced metal song begins growling from heightened speakers,…

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July 30, 2020

“The Ahava Order,” A Novel Excerpt from Robert Przybylski

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

The Ahava Order is the first book in Robery Przybylski’s series of the same name. This excerpt is reprinted with permission. Copyright (c) 2019 Robert Przybylski, published by Royal Hawaiian Press. *** The Ahava Order Winter life in Anad, a small village situated among forests, was running its usual course. Roe deer searched for food among plants in snow-covered fields, livestock heartily ate hay. For the Mage Azam and his wife, Eva the Enchantress, the day was going to turn out memorable. That morning, just as every morning, their son Zephyr was preparing food for the animals, while his father was getting ready to hunt for Amash—a horse-sized animal with everlasting white fur from the family of Great Wolves. Inhabiting numberous forests, the species hunts alone, pairs off and doesn’t form packs. Azam was about to choose a weapon when the village squire, Bolv, a squat man with a crop of curly hair on his head and a slightly red face—the effect of having consumed…

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July 27, 2020

“Departure,” A Short Story by Bari Lynn Hein

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

When Chelsea stepped off the school bus on her last day of kindergarten, she handed me a construction-paper card shaped like a necktie. “This is for you, Mommy,” she said. With pink and yellow tempera paint she had filled the tie with flowers, and with black she’d placed the letters M and O over the preprinted F and A in FATHER. I understood, in that moment, that the next two and a half months were to be treasured, that my days of unfettered freedom with Chelsea would be finite. Eventually, I moved the card from my refrigerator to a box on a shelf above my desk. In the years that followed, I added more treasures to the box: a seashell that Chelsea had found at the shore, a rubber Minnie Mouse and Canadian coins from our trips to Disney World and Niagara Falls, a…

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July 23, 2020

“Captain,” A Short Story by Zach Piggott

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

The pulsing woke him up from his deep sleep. He hated those blaring alarms and had opted years ago for the pulse. It did him wonders back then. Now he hated feeling it. He hoped for a morning where he wouldn’t feel it. He groaned, moving his body under the covers. His fingertips grazed the cool metal that had become familiar to him over the past weeks. He swung his feet over the side, his weary green eyes half opened. Where a partner should’ve been had been empty for six years. Too committed to the military. It was just another excuse. The routine was the same since he had gotten home from his deployment: breakfast, shower, shave, dress and wait. Sometimes he waited all day with nothing happening. Other times he received phone calls. Once or twice he was ushered…

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July 21, 2020

Kira Rice-Christianson — Six Poems

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

Little White Lies I started carrying around these little white lies; they live here on my face. Like when I ask you a question and your answer seems ingenuine but I smile at you softly, anyway. Or when I fix you a plate and you give me your thanks, and I kiss the side of your head. While inside I scold the woman who does as she’s told, though I lay with her each night in bed. Or when you don’t come home for three nights in a row and I lay awake cracking my knuckles and toes. I picture her holding your body, unclothed. The thought leaves me paranoid, and I look through your phone. I shouldn’t have done that, now I can’t sleep. My body is filled with anxiety and heat. I…

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July 16, 2020

“Knowing,” A Short Story by Jarrett Mazza

Posted by Mike Rochester in Writing

SOMETIMES I WAKE UP AND forget where I am or how I arrived. We often wonder about our personal truths, our pilgrimages that help us to see who, what we are. At night, when I’m sleeping next to her, I sometimes roll quietly out of bed and stumble into the kitchen to shake off the nightmares I’ve had. I’m bleeding in each one. I can assemble so many pieces of my life and merge them meticulously together and take some time to assess how it’s all going to work before I get back to bed. But we can’t change overnight. We just need time. I suppose the lowest moment, the moments where you could say I wish I was saved became increasingly more frequent. Alone in my two-bedroom loft, before I met her, I found…

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