The way home was filled with reminders of why things couldn’t be. He looked over at her as she stared out the window, head leaned up against the door, breath leaving a light fog on the glass. He clenched the top of the steering wheel, slowly revving the slick, worn-out leather, and he repositioned himself in his seat—moving with the intention of saying something to break the silence. Something to…
March is National Reading Month. One, Frisco Library, shared this poster from the Work Projects Administration Poster Collection for Library of Congress from 1941: I have been sitting and staring at a blank word document for hours at a time for much of March, despite reading kick-me-in-the-ass quotes from the likes of Mark Helprin (If an electrician said, I have electrician’s block … he would be committeed.) and Stephen King…
“Hey Miss Brandi!” I say. “RUN AND GET IT. DUH! Next question please.” “OK, right. That’s your instinct—to go in the direction I threw the ball. But you know how sometimes I mess with you and my arm looks like I’m throwing it, but I hold onto it? And you go darting in the direction you think the ball went, then eventually discover that I haven’t thrown the ball?” “YES!…
My friend Sue and I had come out to Mojave National Preserve to do some camping, hiking, and cycling. Neither of us had been here before, and we were looking forward to “the desert solitude” it boasted on the website. We arrived from Los Angeles late on a Sunday afternoon. After checking out the old Kelso Depot that functions as the main Visitor Center and taking a drive around to…
