Imagist – Fiction / Poetry / Photography
the .410 bore was perfectfull choked for partridgeeither perched or flyinghe’d dropped another one onto the small pond getting his feet wet when he’d stepped through the icehe dressed it – wings tucked then yanked quickly -and placed the breast in waxed cardboard the carcass tossed aside for any hungry vixenwalking the path that ribboned … Continue reading A Little Ways Up North
The beauty of online communities, networks, publications, is the abundance of information available. We can learn anything, from anyone, at any time. However wonderful this is, there are too many traps to fall into: Learn from the Teachers A lot of advice–a lot–comes from novices, learners, students. This may seem fantastic, a fresh pool of … Continue reading Of Sycophants & Haters
Whenever an artist, a craftsperson, a chef creates something identifiable as his or her own, the underlying differentiator is the story. Forget the words, brush strokes, hammer marks, tool grinds, ingredients; the only thing—the only quality—that matters is the story. What remains from the creation is not only ‘object,’ but ‘narrative’ of why that object … Continue reading There is nothing but a story
We have always been told to learn from our mistakes. It’s a simple enough concept: don’t repeat things that don’t work or things that are bad for you. Wear shoes when you walk on gravel. Don’t stick your tongue to the pole in the schoolyard in winter. Simple. When it comes to writing, the concept … Continue reading Never Erase
(especially in the war against ai) The most important aspect of writing is voice: that feel, sound, or signature thing that makes a piece identifiable as a particular writer’s work. Inevitably a writer just starting out will copy a mentor’s voice—subconsciously or not—to start understanding what makes it interesting. Then, through craft, experience, more reading, … Continue reading Voice over everything
they watched & abetted…
There is a lot of snow. I shovelled a path to the bird feeders that were caked and weighted down with ice. I cleared them off, refilled them, shook the coldness from my boots at the back door. Having put the canister away, left my boots to drip dry on the vent, rubbed a semblance … Continue reading Just talking about the weather
The first one was a cheap white metal thing. Many of the beads were broken or chipped, the cross itself warped. Yet, in the dying light of late afternoon, the rosary took on a magic glow. The boy couldn’t resist. He picked it up, twirled it around his finger, but after a few seconds he … Continue reading Reliquary
The birds wait patiently for a place at the feeder, but the grackles and starlings swoop in and scare them off into the nearby trees. They hack and fight and bully their way to the seed and suet cylinder. With utter disregard, they peck, pick, gnaw at the bounty, overfilling themselves, never leaving. Then, weak … Continue reading They are scared
When traffic flows, all lanes at the right speed, all drivers in the zone, the commute feels like surfing. The wave is perfect. But then, ahead, a flash of red, a tap of the brakes, and the tube crashes, knocking us down, drowning.
R L Raymond 