Writing
Writing
A collection of contemporary literary short stories set where the South meets the Midwest.
Manuscript currently in revision.
November 23, 1988
Serena stood in a long line at First Link, the ghetto grocery store. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and it was packed.
Everything about the store reminded her of why she left the South. The place smelled like old baby formula, meat gone bad, body funk and dirty ammonia water that didn’t stand a chance at cleaning up a neighborhood crumbled and changed under the weight of poverty and drugs.
From “Slaughtertown”
Included in South by Midwest
The hall light was out still. I climbed the three flights of stairs carefully, leaning against the wall. I began slowly getting feeling back in my toes. Rap music blared from two apartments, as if in competition.
The heater in the apartment was barely kicking out anything. I needed a space heater like I needed a phone. By the time I could file my taxes and get the money back it would be warm, and I would no longer need the space heater, and I would be accustomed to living without a phone.
From “Succotash”
Included in South by Midwest
One night I came home late from school. The sun had already set. The maintenance man was alone on the front porch. No one else was around. He looked sad. I could tell from the softness around his eyes that he was not on his first beer, and had probably been sipping from the pint size bottle of whiskey he kept in his front overalls pocket.
He told me to get my stuff upstairs and come back down quick. He had some news. Bad news.
When I came back downstairs, he was taking a swig of the liquor. He offered me the bottle and I drank, knowing I was going to need it.
From “The Carriage House”
Included in South by Midwest
A collection of contemporary literary short stories set where the South meets the Midwest.
Manuscript currently in revision.
November 23, 1988
Serena stood in a long line at First Link, the ghetto grocery store. It was the day before Thanksgiving, and it was packed.
Everything about the store reminded her of why she left the South. The place smelled like old baby formula, meat gone bad, body funk and dirty ammonia water that didn’t stand a chance at cleaning up a neighborhood crumbled and changed under the weight of poverty and drugs.
From “Slaughtertown”
Included in South by Midwest
The hall light was out still. I climbed the three flights of stairs carefully, leaning against the wall. I began slowly getting feeling back in my toes. Rap music blared from two apartments, as if in competition.
The heater in the apartment was barely kicking out anything. I needed a space heater like I needed a phone. By the time I could file my taxes and get the money back it would be warm, and I would no longer need the space heater, and I would be accustomed to living without a phone.
From “Succotash”
Included in South by Midwest
One night I came home late from school. The sun had already set. The maintenance man was alone on the front porch. No one else was around. He looked sad. I could tell from the softness around his eyes that he was not on his first beer, and had probably been sipping from the pint size bottle of whiskey he kept in his front overalls pocket.
He told me to get my stuff upstairs and come back down quick. He had some news. Bad news.
When I came back downstairs, he was taking a swig of the liquor. He offered me the bottle and I drank, knowing I was going to need it.
From “The Carriage House”
Included in South by Midwest