There it is again. That slithering sound that always comes in the dead of night. The floor is frigid under your feet and, shivering, you pull on your fuzzy socks. In the dark kitchen, you paw through drawers, looking for…what? A spatula? Tongs? It’s probably nothing, anyway. Armed with kitchen utensils, you make your way … Continue reading Drain: A Drabble
Last night, it was a great honor to be interviewed live by the fantastic novelist Victorine Lieske, president of the Nebraska Writers Guild! We had an awesome conversation about my novel, "Weatherbone," as well as the hard lessons I've learned (and am still learning) as an author trying to get published. Watch our interview here, … Continue reading NE Writers Guild: Author Chat w/ Shoshana Sumrall Frerking
On a clear day, the basement flooded. We had no sump pump. “I’ll siphon it,” Uncle Ernie said, grabbing a hose. He stuck one end through the hopper and the other into his mouth. Ma said, “That hose has been lying in the garden all summer. No telling what might’ve crawled inside.” Ernie’s eyes widened. … Continue reading A Drabble: Uncle Ernie
I was part of a team sent to represent the Lincoln chapter of PFLAG at a national convention in Arkansas. The convention was at a church, in a town where much of the industry that had kept it alive had dried up, leaving whole blocks deserted and streets in disrepair. The church was also a … Continue reading Dream #267: Hunters Become the Prey
Original Pub: Plains Song Review Volume VII 2005 A sun pillar in the middle of June. I-80 whispers underneath and a pine wind slips in through your half-open window, racing round inside my Toyota, trying to escape again, scattering the haze of sun-drenched vinyl and old Doritos. And, straight ahead, that improbable, fugitive monument to … Continue reading Sterling
Original Pub: Paradigm Journal: The Jackson Issue Winter 2009 On John Reily's first day at the new school in rural Nebraska, Mrs. Clarkson stood him before the third grade class and introduced him to the silent room. When she asked him to tell the class where he was from, John said, "I'm from Colorahdo." His … Continue reading John’s Germs
Do you want me to hold your hand? I asked her. No. I can do it by myself. The hole was just wide enough for two to lie side by side. When she was comfortable, she looked up at the blue rectangle of sky for the last time. See you tomorrow, she said.
Last night, Nightlight Podcast tweeted the awesome writing prompt: "The wind carried more than a chill to the air." I attempted to tweet a response, which became a hot mess because I suck at Twitter. Anyhow, this was my response: Unseen and unfelt, we passed at night through your windows, your crawlspaces, your mail slots. Carried … Continue reading The wind carried more than a chill to the air. (a Nightlight Podcast writing prompt)