Mortimer West hunted and pecked on the old Remington. He worked the typewriter keys carefully, his thick fingers clumsy and pained, his hands given to tremors and twitches.
First published in Lighthouse Digest (2024).
Mortimer West hunted and pecked on the old Remington. He worked the typewriter keys carefully, his thick fingers clumsy and pained, his hands given to tremors and twitches.
First published in Lighthouse Digest (2024).
A car horn. A cow mooing. A car horn. A cow mooing. A car horn that sounded like a cow mooing. Toby struggled to rouse himself. Who rigs their car horn to sound like a cow mooing? he thought. Did I float off and land in Omaha or something?
“The Sleepless Man”
Ginosko Literary Journal (2024)
There was no escaping the director, he thought, no escaping the man in the black slacks and white dress shirt and gray tie and American Legion pin. He’d grown used to the director’s routine – the understanding smile, the kind word, the inescapable hand on his shoulder and the never-ending handshake.
“Always and Only Ever”
Talking River Review (2025)
He would leave the coasts of Newfoundland and join his brother in his hardware business in the States, in some city named Oshkosh, where he would try to be of value but pictured himself wearily sweeping floors, gathering trash and sorting nails. After seven years in the lighthouse, Mortimer feared an entirely new type of solitude — being set adrift on an unknown ocean of people and places and things.
“Farewell, Luv”
Lighthouse Digest (2024)
“Tonight,” Mrs. Baker said, “half of them will ask their parents for a fishing dog and the other half will ask for a spinner and a box of nymphs and worms. Then their moms and dads will ring me at home after dinner for a full and detailed explanation.”
“Sam the Fishing Dog”
The Writing Disorder (2025)
“You said he used to be a human cannonball in the circus,” said Maisy. “That one that always performed in the capital. We call and ask if he’s still got the cannon, you know, maybe stored out in his barn. Then we bring it back here, put Dan in the jumpsuit and helmet and shoot him across Carter’s Pond. If he plopped against the side of Elle’s house, maybe then she’d notice him.”
“Saturday Morning”
Avalon Literary Review (2025)
Jack drifted though the intersection at St. John and Hardesty for the sixth time that morning, and he wondered when the Hill Top Tavern might open. Noon? Would it open at noon on a Sunday? And, if it did, would it be bad form to be the first in the door? A minute past noon and alone?
“Speaking of Ice Cream”
San Antonio Review (2026)