Short Story by Julie Wittes Schlack
Be positive, but be genuine, the memo advises. Acknowledge that this is an emotionally difficult time, but demonstrate confidence in our future.
Be positive, but be genuine, the memo advises. Acknowledge that this is an emotionally difficult time, but demonstrate confidence in our future.
Standing before the mute petroglyphs, I found myself conjuring stories about what lay behind each rendering.
It was the best of times, until the big man whose clock struck thirteen made it the worst of times.
It’s starting again in the U.S.A.
Admitting you are a writer at Wheeler’s is like admitting to folding origami or shopping at the Whole Foods.
I’ve learned to live among the blooming trees, Sunday church traffic, and love of bacon.
We were so blind that, in the name of righteousness, we committed our own ethical and moral atrocities.
Something essential, something dangerous, loomed in this war and deserved the light of literary day.
A schmaltzy, eerily familiar tune that loops along, accordions swelling and shrinking, high-heeled, lipsticked women la-la-la-la-la-la-ing.
No political group fully represents my views. I’m a bridge person.