-
Beyond Romance
Written by
on
I called Betsy from a phone booth in Edenton, North Carolina, on the Albemarle Sound, where descendants of Blackbeard the Pirate were members of the Chamber of Commerce. I was…
-
Hurrying to Elsewhere
Written by
on
Leaving church, I drove out to the Oconaluftee River, found a rock to sit on, and stared at the moving water. I prayed and waited for some echo, some after-shock…
-
The Good Father
Written by
on
Looking for a wife, I decided to go to church. I was proud of my intention to be a father. Fantasies of parenthood gave me a sense of belonging. Soon…
-
Empty As A Pillowcase
Written by
on
I had known women who wanted children, who had spooked me. One in particular was a candidate for marriage and motherhood not far behind me: Betsy had moved in, and…
-
Rooster May Crow
Written by
on
The impulse hit me like remembering something you forgot when you’re already on the highway. Like forgetting to take your own pillow when you go far away, else when you…
-
FOURTH OF JULY—An American Garden of Fire
Written by
on
Gunpowder flowers bloom after dark, Flaming roses, black-eyed susan’s of yellow sparks, white lightning orchids, blue hydrangeas of flame, GUNPOWDER FLOWERS ABLAZE Star spangled marathon of ornamental explosions, GUNPOWDER FLOWERS…
-
A Letter to Young Writers
Written by
on
The only true voice a writer can speak in—honestly and truly—is hers or his own. This might seem obvious, when in actuality, most people—the vast majority—never learn to “speak” on…
-
Spinning The Bottle
Written by
on
That first winter in high school, we were wild. Not full grown teenagers, none of us had a driver’s license, an automobile. or much idea of what to do…
-
The Night Will Be Young Forever
Written by
on
It was 1962, the rabble beyond the waterway were already well aroused. Underage drinking went on in the parking lot at the sock hop. Quite a lot of drinking, almost…