Category Archives: Fiction

(This story has a curious element. I posted it a while ago, but took a chance on asking Claude and ChatGPT to give me their thoughts. They caught a few typos; ChatGPT got the language Wilkerson would use, while Claude … Continue reading →

  Geoffrey Lewis stared down the coast. The clouds hung low and were a darker grey. He saw nothing else. The only sounds were the sharp squawking of gulls fighting over tidbits of rotting fish that rolled in on the … Continue reading →

Henry was edging along the bank, staying clear of the river. A hatch was just underway. Blue-wing olives, if Henry knew his flies. Small ones.  The trout would soon be rising to the flies. His destination was a nice pool … Continue reading →

Michelle was not being judgmental. Hadn’t she said that, oh, a million times? “I’m not being judgmental. I’m just offering an opinion.” So when she said it for the million and one time, surely she meant it. I’ll give her … Continue reading →

Rufus woke with another itch. It was the weather, of course, and the room. The room was too hot, the weather too dry, and he itched. He itched to the point of scratching away skin, bleeding on his bed, and … Continue reading →

There wasn’t a suit, or tie, or teary eye among them as they gathered at the river’s edge. Alec Hume’s shoulder ached under the weight of Stebbo’s ashes. Even in death, Stebbo was a pain to his fellow anglers, who … Continue reading →

Hoffman only stopped because he fell over the thick root of an ancient oak. He wanted to get up, to be back on his feet. He had to go on with his exhaustive run. In that moment though, he welcomed … Continue reading →

Whittaker walked up Pilgrim Road deliberately splashing into the puddles left behind by the night’s downpour. He enjoyed the rain. April showers and all. He smiled at that. He also enjoyed the lightning and thunder that had accompanied the storm. … Continue reading →

Wilkerson went about his business, such as it was which is to say not very much. Wilkerson’s days were like that now, had been for several years in fact. His business was puttering about, extending the mundane into the profound. … Continue reading →

There’s a stage in the life of a man, when in the middle of a fall afternoon, likely a Friday, he’s in his yard raking leaves maybe, or getting the mail. He’s not wearing a stretched-out cardigan, one with those … Continue reading →