Short Stories & Essays


She dozed on the beach chair, the waves of Isla Mujeres gently competing with the Mexican beat behind her head in the bar. In the wet heat, time didn’t seem to have any edges to it; it flowed around her like water. It was August, and it was so hot, the sun moving up her legs under the umbrella, ripples of sweat running down the inside of her swimsuit.

She opened one eye. The water was dotted with boats and Mexicans up to their necks bathing in the turquoise sea.


~Gargoyle, Issue No. 64


It was an odd group, and it got odder still.

But we’ll talk about that later.

The three celebrated authors, who I had never heard of, hung around outside while we sat in the living room with our wine and goodies, waiting. Meggie had told us something about them online when she sent out the invitation for the reading. They were all part of a local writer’s workshop. Look them up, she wrote in her invitation. One of them has been on the Today show.


~The Bottle Magazine, November, 2014


Tater. His real name was Willam Francis McKinny III, but he got the name Tater because he was about as useless as a potato on legs when he drank. His best friend, Nick Plakowitz,named him that soon after the two of them started stealing jim Beam from Nick’s Dad’s liquor locker in the basement that was set up like a pool hall. Nick poured wáter in the square booze bottle, so his Dad wouldn’t know. Tater said, “He’s gonna know.”

“Nah, he don’t want to deal with it. He too busy with that paint business of his.”


~Akashic Books, September, 2014