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First the teeth. Then the car. Then the girl.
Prompted By What My Mother Told Me
/ Stories
At the very first event of the reunion—a meetup for those of us who had begun participating in a class list-serve to help us get reacquainted before we met in person--I met the girl.
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A New Hope
Prompted By Pandemic, Year Three
/ Stories
She rings up the order. She is not wearing a mask. I am not wearing a mask.
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A new look at the tools of a writer’s craft
Prompted By Some Assembly Required
/ Stories
OK, I admit it. I’m not competent at assembly projects, although I do live with one gigantic IKEA wardrobe that I managed to put together by dint of much time, sweat, and profanity. I am repurposing for “Retrospect” this poem that I wrote a number of years ago. WRITER’S WORKSHOP (Deer Isle, Maine) The view…
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Of Fast Breaks and Thin Mints
Prompted By Guilty Pleasures
/ Stories
With Louie Dampier's basketball prowess setting the stage, I learned just how delicious it could be to eat Thin Mints and Trefoils while listening to or watching tournament basketball.
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The birth of a country story-song
Prompted By One Song That Moves Me
/ Stories
Trump was the opposite of everything represented by the big man who worked in the mine. I began with an opening verse whose phrasing was very close to the original.
Every morning at the Tower, you could see him arrive
With soft, small hands, he weighed two-forty-five
Wore an extra-long tie, stared at all the girls’ tits
And everybody knew you didn't give no lip to Mean Don
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Call the City Desk!
Prompted By Newspapers
/ Stories
Decades before there was Google, there was “the City Desk.” It wasn’t a digital resource; it was an actual person picking up a phone and dutifully looking for an answer to any reasonable question you posed. “How does the population of Indiana (where I grew up) compare to that of our neighboring states—Ohio and Illinois?”…
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The Boys of Summer (of 1960)
Prompted By Group Photos
/ Stories
A group photo of my Fall Creek Little League team from the north side of Indianapolis in the summer of 1960 evokes a cavalcade of memories and reflections. It gives the lie to any assertion that group photographs, as a genre, are stiff or staid or a matter of meaningless formality. This one helps me…
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A cup of tea, a game of backgammon, and memories of Mao
Prompted By Snowy Days
/ Stories
Dan and Sally invited me in, and with their daughter, we played backgammon, and they made me a cup of tea and offered me some cookies.
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On the way to Toledo
Prompted By Highways and Byways
/ Stories
To play the “Gas Station Game,” you began by taking turns choosing different brands of gas, the way you might pick players on a pickup baseball or touch-football team. He would pick first—that was just the rule—and he would always pick Standard,
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Greetings from Skampy and Bucko and the whole family
Prompted By Holiday Letters
/ Stories
Humans are so superficial! They love the blue jay because of its striking color. Don’t they ever notice what a bully and a pest he is?
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