Archives: April 2015

Reblog: Guest Post

Kurt Brindley is nice enough to read and review my novel, so I contributed a guest post to his blog. OR SO YOU SAY – A Guest Author Post by J Hardy Carroll POSTED ON APRIL 29, 2015 BY KURT BRINDLEY 3 It is my pleasure, privilege, and honor to present to you a whirlwind of wisdom

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What To Forgive

This beauty. Her beauty, the beauty of the night, of Barcelona in May. He ran his finger along the rim of the wine glass until it began to chime. “My father will not be moved. I am sorry.” Her eyes glistened, but he saw no tears. Another time he would have said this was because

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Shame

Shame did not come when fat Tony pressed the greasy envelope into my lap beneath the pub table. Fat Tony smiled, nodded and got up to go, winked as he left. Brisbee thumped my shoulder then. “Popped your cherry, you have. Let’s have another round.” Bris motioned for the whiskey. I suppose I drank, caught

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Überhaus Diary: Sushi Date

From May 1999. Dating in a nutshell. sushi date I watch  Masa slice the fish draw his knife quick along the gleaming belly it seems to move itself as I float forever on your voice the soft curve of your lips cradling words full of recent events devoid of meaning God you are beautiful your eyes, way across the table

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Tuesday, September 11th

It was Jill’s idea. She lives downstairs in our building, a city kid like me. She said she was a real Harriet the Spy.  I never read it,  so I’ll take her word. I like books about war. Last night there was a building party and all the kids went to Mrs. Massey’s on the fifth floor. Jill and I

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Protocol

Friday Fictoneers for this week is a tough one. I stood staring at the picture of the Keck Observatory for a long time. The colonel’s blotchy face turned  salt white as he watched the screen. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Are you sure this is real?” “Absolutely certain, Colonel. We wouldn’t have enacted the protocol if we weren’t. Both of

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This Isn’t Just Turbulence

Sunday Photo Fiction. “This isn’t just turbulence.” As she said this, the plane shuddered as though struck, jolted sharply upward. Her Bloody Mary shot from its plastic cup and drenched my shirt and lap. She closed her eyes and began to scream. The plane shook with sudden violence, then settled into a rattling vibration as

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Überhaus Diary: Tsuru no Sugomori

One night I walked from my apartment up to Portland’s tiny Japan Town and witnessed two old men sitting in a vast room playing go, a young man watching from the doorway. I went home and wrote this piece. It is typical of the sort of things I was writing at the time, fragments of

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My Kind of Alcoholic : Friday Fictioneers

A dramatic image from Rochelle this morning begets a less dramatic story.   “Ask you another question?” “As long as you’re buying.” He motioned for two more shots. They came and we toasted. “What’s the deal when you guys leave the fire truck in the street? No sirens, just the lights rolling.” I sipped my beer. “Well, lots

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Tarn Said

Sunday Photo Fiction this week made me think of Miller’s Crossing, but since I already wrote something very like that I thought I’d take this in another direction. Sort of like if characters from a Faulkner story got pulled into a 1970s dirt bike slasher movie. Tarn said they had it coming, racing around like

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