“Let us hope the birds have enough privacy to breed!” roared the King.
Category: fiction
RISING, a short story by Joan Spilman
He reads something in my face I have no words for. “Okay,” Tim says. “You can have your divorce.”
This Textured Darkness, #2
The bird suddenly seemed negotiable.
This Textured Darkness, The Myth
Spirits beneath a star-strung sky
Carries a woman with tears in her eyes.
Introducing, This Textured Darkness, a fantasy
We either connect with the work or we don’t because the character has been endowed with life, and life has the power to draw others into the nature of its reality.
Frank McGhee (aka Stumpy)
Harshbarger Mills, #4 I grew up in West Virginia, and it’s my belief that our small towns, hollers, and “wide spots in the road” contain more characters… Read more “Frank McGhee (aka Stumpy)”
Lumpy McFaye
“No, thanks. I’ve seen enough of human nature.”
When I write What I write . . .
Bean juice affected the great-aunts like distillery fumes.
Faith by Richard Spilman
Grace . . . kept by itself in the drawer of a bedside table. . .
June Bugs by Richard Spilman
Insects have no sense of tragedy.
