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Ketchum, If You Can

I just spent a few days in the Rockies of Idaho, in a snow-globe deep-freeze sun drenched valley thousands of feet above sea level. I had been asked to read from my new book by the Ketchum Community Library. This came to pass because Sabina Dana Plasse, currently Arts & Events editor of the Idaho Mountain Express, brought my book to the powers that be at the library and they extended an invitation. My ego was ti
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FICTION: PART SIX

It was soon apparent I did not possess Mary’s instincts for genius in children’s entertainment. Work, such as it was called, amounted to reading an incessant influx of unsolicited scripts. Topics favored the supernatural, and all were laced with syrupy morality messages. Where Mary saw magic I saw putrefaction. My job was to read and reduce these scripts to one hundred word reports. So like school, I marveled. I was
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FICTION: PART FIVE

Emma, a girl I knew from college, offered up the use of her fuchsia moiré satin sofa, “for a week or so, until you find a place of your own.” Emma’s trust fund took care of the details of her comfortable life. This included the ground floor of a townhouse on the Upper East Side. Half way along a leafy side street, down one step to a sunken courtyard the heavy front door was couched beneath a stone archway. This opene
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FICTION: PART FOUR

“Late.” Mary Salt remarked. She crossed her arms and stared, letting her eyes rove over me, “and you look like hell. This is not the way to make a good impression on your new boss.” Each word she spoke emerged in a bubble and then hung, in slimy drips, on the rungs of her metal headdress. She wobbled forward on the tottering shoes and just before what looked like an imminent fall she lurched into a chair. Her slender
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Fiction Part Three

I threw some effort at the Web and conjured a television producer, one Mary Salt hell-bound on hiring an assistant, because, as she said, she was ‘desperate’. She needed someone ‘Pronto’, no skills required. Show up at 12 tomorrow. A call to a pal with a guest room and I was good to go. I could scarcely believe how easy this all was. I couldn’t restrain a pitying laugh when I thought of my former college-mates, clust
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Fiction Part Two

Despite more than forty years stateside Uncle Archibald and Auntie Mildred remained distinctly British; they studiously maintained their Queen’s English, they belonged to a local bird watching society and they drank a lot of sherry. Another throwback to the motherland was their modus operandi of keeping a 'stiff upper lip'.
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GWON

My word is ‘Gwon’.
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Creative Non-Fiction

My dirty tale was delivered to the inbox of Rat, this guy I know.
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