Jim the Writer

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Nor the Battle to the Strong

Mom wants to take Jason to the faith healer who's appearing nightly in a limited engagement at the Westgate Auditorium. "There's no such thing as faith healing," I say. "He's dying," she says. Like I don't know that. Like anybody wouldn't know that who sees Jason in the hospital bed in her living room, a lump of bony flesh, each breath a whimper. My brother, …

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 …

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 …

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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 …

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 …

Lights

A young lieutenant sat with his back against a stone wall and his shirt front soaked through with blood. He was bare-headed, and looked about fifteen. He stared up at Gunther. "Lights," he whispered. Something like that. …

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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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