Jim the Writer

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Ship

"Ship, tell me a story," the traveler commanded. "Long or short, sir?" asked a disembodied contralto. "Short. I grow sleepy." "Happy? Sad?" "Happy. I desire a pleasant hibernation." "Very well. There once was a gentle woman who loved a man from Autumn World." "I hail from Autumn World!" "Indeed, he had your dark looks …

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The Day After Thanksgiving, 1977

On the day after Thanksgiving in 1977, I was alone in my apartment, writing. Nobody called it “Black Friday” then. It was just the day after Thanksgiving. I don’t know when it became the high holy day of American consumerism. …

Timing is Everything

Fellowes, carrying orders for the 3rd Division, stood in the sandy track, clutching the dispatch case against his side like a talisman. Across the field, smoke rose from a distant blue tree-line. Small groups of men moved about the field. Fellowes started toward one group. All around him, dark …

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 …

Grant’s Last Campaign

On a porch near Saratoga Springs, he gathers his forces from a rattan chair. The Great Captain, bundled in blankets against the summer air. Death is close, tasting like a damp cigar. “Grant’s Last Campaign,” the newspapers call it. He scratches away. Shiloh, The Wilderness, Cold Harbor. Has he said …

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 …

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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