Jim the Writer

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Forever Hold Your Peace

Tony shuddered when the tinkling started. He sat in a sparsely populated corner of the hall, far from the head table, closer to the keg, drinking beer out of a plastic cup. As the tinkling grew in volume, Tony kept his eyes on the wet rings his cup had made in the paper tablecloth. A cheer arose. He knew she was kissing him, and the thought ate him alive. …

Homecoming

Lord Galt’s return to the Castle of the Mountain Kingdom was sudden and unexpected. It had to be so. The King had been vocal in his criticism of his uncle. His words stopped short of condemnation, and yet were poison in the minds of his loyal subjects. He may as well have pronounced the Syllables of …

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Love and the Summer Night

He was a peasant, a man of the soil. Or so he claimed. She never believed him. He owned a farm house, but someone else owned the barn and fields. His hands were huge and strong, but sensitive. A potter's hands. "You're an artist," she said. "Admit it." They were in bed, katydids singing through the …

Yes, Today

It was my day to drive. Nature provided a misty rain for our 50-mile commute. I didn’t focus on Neilsen until I had backed the car to the bottom of his driveway. I slammed the brake. “What the hell is that?” Neilsen turned toward me. He was wearing a hard-shell, full-face mask. Black, with big …

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Tony’s baby

Parenthood hit Tony Lawson like a summer storm. Yes, very much like that. A sudden, unexpected stroke of fury, a violent collision of opposing fronts. "Tony, you jerk, meet your son." The sky was cloudless above the executive lot, but the air crackled around the words. Tony fumbled his iPhone, …

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What Else You Can’t Do

He had no music in him, never had. In fourth grade, before the Christmas pageant, a desperate teacher ordered him to lip-sync "The Little Drummer Boy." Decades later, a grown man, it still made him sad. "You can't dance," a woman told him over the booming bass at a grad school party. "It makes me …

Fragment of a memoir

"The thing is," Papa said, "everybody gets that story wrong. They always think the baby died." "Well, sure," I said. "What else?" Papa shook his head. "The baby didn't die. The mother doesn't want the shoes." He finished his gin martini and motioned to the barkeep for another. The fan turned …

About me

As you have probably figured out, my name is Jim and I am a writer. For many years, I was a college writing teacher, too -- among many other life roles. I have another, more popular blog called Life After Carbs. It's about losing weight on a reduced carbohydrate diet. And it's about me -- my favorite …

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El Morro

The Desire to Leave a Mark ... El Morro (the headland) stands in western New Mexico, and is also known as Inscription Rock. At the base of El Morro is a pool of water that for centuries attracted parched travelers to the spot, many of whom carved dates, names, and messages (including petroglyphs) into the …

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