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 A
NEW BLOG POST COMING SHORTLY!
Please check back with us!
It’s getting close to game time. Tomorrow, the 24th, my e-short story—THE
VULTURE’S GAME-- goes on sale for 99 cents. That’s right—99
cents. It’s a look at a much younger Vincent
THE WOLF
and I think you’ll enjoy it if you give it a try.
Tomorrow
is a big day in so many other respects—my son Nick turns 28. He’s a fine
young man, hardworking, fun to be around, lots of good and close
friends. His mother did a terrific job raising him—while still holding
down several demanding jobs across the years. I love having him as a
friend and even more to call him my son. Happy Birthday, Nick!
Read more here.
A MOTHER'S LOVE
My mother cradled her dead infant in her arms, too young, too beaten, too weary to shed any more tears. She was barely 22 years old and
had already lost a younger brother to an unforgiving war that would eventually strip her of a husband as well. She looked around, at the
hillsides of Salerno, Italy, where she and her neighbors would often set
out late afternoon picnics in happier times. There was nothing left now beyond mounds of charred dirt and crushed stone of what had once been a
family's home. My mother stared out at all that, at the black smoke rising
up toward a cloudless sky, at the screams of pain and the shouts of anguish
that surrounded her, at the bodies that lay fallen and at her dead son resting peacefully against her chest. She closed her eyes and whispered a
silent prayer.
Read more here.
A FATHER'S GIFT
MY FATHER WAS barely literate
and my mother didn’t speak English. Nor did I until I started grade
school. And there were no books in the railroad apartment we shared in
Hell’s Kitchen other than my collection of Classics Illustrated comics
that I kept in a neat pile in a hall bureau. My dad worked as a butcher
at the old 14th Street meat market, now known more for its high-end
clothing stores and restaurants than for trucks packed with hind
quarters bound for uptown destinations.
Read more here.
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