By eight years old, I was already skilled in the art of fetching my stepfather a drink. Not yet tall enough to reach the large glasses on the top shelf, or the liquor cabinet above the stove, I’d hoist myself onto the counter. Next I’d grab a plastic tumbler from the first cupboard, one of those ringed by four smart rows of penguins marching neatly round. A few steps of my bare feet across counter-top brought me to the highest cabinet where a bottle of Seagram’s 7 always fronted a handful of options.
In creative writing class Professor Herring stressed villains must be nuanced if they are to be accepted believed embraced by the discerning reader No one is pure evil even Hitler loved a kitten once And I thought of my villains David- Clubber of baby seals and other fat things. Mike- Whiskey fueled cruelty… Continue reading Villains
“No te preocupas,” Mara assured her husband as she eased the elaborately carved wooden door shut behind her, “I’m just going to take a walk. I need to think.” Think. That’s all she’d done for six days and she still couldn’t make up her mind. Mara wandered towards the shore line. She wasn’t even tempted… Continue reading The Invitation