Guest Post: A Story Skeleton by Kathy Davis
September 28, 2017
I can watch the flow of water in a rocky, shallow river for hours at a time. Nothing particular occupies my mind; just the travel of water over the hills, valleys, and byways that comprise the river’s topography. The water goes carelessly over, around, and under the boulders and stones that determine its path. When it meets resistance it does not fight against it. Rather, it seeks the nearest and easiest course in its gravitational pull to reach its final level. Continue reading “Story Skeleton: The River Carries the Story”
By Angela Noel
September 7, 2017
Crazy spider walking precarious along my page: I hate you because you are creepy. And you hate me because I hold your death in my fingers.
Yet I am more like you than I am not. Something holds a tissue above me, too. Something that would squash my life as I would squash yours–and equally without thought. Continue reading “Story Skeleton: A Spider’s Death Sentence Commuted . . . For Now”
By Angela Noel
August 3, 2017
“She who laughs at Grammy cries at the reading of the will,” says my grandmother, draped in curlers and a silken turquoise robe.
Lugged from some hidden corner, she plunks a mutant plastic Easter egg on the kitchen counter. She opens the domed contraption, extending its long neck. Settling herself in her barstool, she flips a switch on the device. Whirring, then a huff like a deep sustained sigh, begins. Beneath the dome, her head, to the lips, disappears. Continue reading “Story Skeleton: She Who Laughs at Grammy”