TW Column by Steven Lewis
My father was not impressed with my first triumphant literary efforts, nor with the staple-bound magazines in which they appeared: Modine Gunch and Road Apple Review.
My father was not impressed with my first triumphant literary efforts, nor with the staple-bound magazines in which they appeared: Modine Gunch and Road Apple Review.
I sat alone in the darkened living room, abandoned by family, scorned by the dog, nursing a jam jar of Jim Beam.
Oh, if only they could have seen my tamed-untamed grandchildren at Runaway Bay...
How many insults must a wingless mortal absorb while some assault bird keeps attack-tack-tackin’ windows around his house?
No bosses. No deadlines. No editors. No watches. No cocktail parties.
Early in March, I can smell the bears turning in their caves.