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I've been writing short fiction for seven years. To date, I've had 29 stories published - 28 by e-zines in the US, Canada and the UK; one in a hard copy book published in Canada. 

So far in 2019, I've had one story accepted for online publication in the United States. 'Down By The River' - a packet of letters kept hidden from her husband by Esther, prompts a difficult conversation about love in middle-age - will appear in the March 2nd edition of Potato Soup.

I'm a Fall 2017 graduate of the famous Sarah Selecky Writing School's 'Story Intensive' program. I highly recommend this four-month, online classroom experience using a very effective virtual classroom tool that allows anyone to easily share their class assignments, new work and comments with other members of their class no matter where in the world each member may live.

I regularly submit new work to competitions and the editors of online journals and e-zines that I find interesting and potential…
Recent posts


This is a personal story. It happened quite a few years back, but it has an appropriately seasonal theme. I may not have all the details quite right – sometimes my memory plays tricks on me – but the bare bones of it are true.
It was the last week of November. I was wandering around our large suburban mall. I had no particular destination in mind. I thought the food court might be the perfect place to hang out and engage in some serious people watching. So that’s where I headed.
I was sipping from a warm can of Diet Coke when I noticed him.
He was sitting over in a corner, deep in the shadow of a scraggly Christmas tree with only about half of its slowly blinking lights actually working. Maybe it was because I’ve read far too many spy novels over the years, but I immediately realized he was pretending to read a large mall flyer but in actual fact was watching me over the top of the page.
So I tried an old spy trick of my own. 
I deliberately looked away from him but used the reflection …


The Lombardi family lived in a small wood-sided bungalow with peeling paint and sagging roof line. All of it had a worrisome right-leaning tilt. The fenced yard was a stone’s throw from the main tracks that ran down the middle of town on their way to the smoky steel mills of Hamilton where Tony’s Dad worked.
Everybody in Fraserville called Tony’s neighbourhood ‘Wog Town’ because that’s where all the poor immigrants lived. It was only when he grew older that Tony realized Wog Town was definitely on the wrong side of the tracks and life there was a difficult one.
Spreading out beyond the tracks was a bush. To young Tony, it was an enormous forest, full of tall trees, scrub brush and a small, ever-flowing creek slowly working its way from one corner to the other. Tony’s mother, like all the other mothers on Station Street, warned the kids to never go into that bush to play.
“It’s a dangerous place.”
Her voice always had a weird edge whenever she talked about it.
“Before you were born, lit…


You ever held something with sharp edges? You know, edges and angles so rough that if you rub them too hard, it hurts, might even cut you. When you hold it, you know you really have to be careful. But you just can’t help yourself. It’s really all about those jagged edges. You just have to touch them. Once. Twice. Many times. Admittedly, it’s the sharpness you enjoy. As if you’re almost daring them to cut you. Maybe even make you bleed.
Well, it’s exactly the same kind of thing with me and this purple stone I’m holding in my hand. It has several sides. Many years ago they were jagged edges, freshly broken off a purple crystal somewhere along a Lake Huron beach. Over the years, the waves and sand have worked on it. Continually polishing those hard, sharp parts. Now, it’s smooth as glass.
The purple stone always reminds me that while it doesn’t seem like it at the time, the sharp parts of my life will smooth out. Everything will become beautiful again.
So what am I saying to you? Yes, ther…


When Becky suggested Andrea’s brother could do magic tricks at our wedding reception, well, of course, I didn’t think much of that idea. A magic act at our wedding? Just how crazy is that?
I know it sounds odd now saying it out loud, but back then I couldn’t tell her what I really thought. In a couple of weeks, Becky was going to become my wife. She was stubbornly seized upon this guy’s magic act so what was I supposed to do? Me saying no, I mean, telling her it was a crazy stupid idea. It just didn’t seem to be the best way to start off our marriage. So, I kept quiet.
“Ok, Beck. What’s this guy’s name? You know anything about his act? What’s he do that’s so special?”
“I’ve known Teddie practically all my life. He calls himself The Totally Awesome Theodore. A nice guy. Besides, Andrea says he’s become an excellent magician. Apparently, doing card tricks is one of his specialties. When we were growing up, Teddie always pestered me to watch his latest trick. One of his favourites was with …