I love the album Ghost Stories, especially the song“Ghost Story.” The bits about being unseen, being little more than a whisper remind me that ghosts, conjured or otherwise, are always with us. My hometown is littered with ghosts. Mapping that to fiction, in THE TIN BOX ghosts are not Casper-like figures but a presence created… Continue Reading
The Tin Box
The relic-like mementos in the box drew Sara in. She carefully lifted the dress, thinned with age, and pressed it to her body. It seemed to be made for her. Smoothing it over her clothes and turning her head as if admiring herself in a mirror, Sara loved the feel of it, the look of… Continue Reading
Who Can Know the Heart?
Sara would always remember the words, jagged and piercing: An accident. On her way home from work. Two blocks from home. Sara waited cautiously, hoping it was a wrong number “Expired,” said the officer who announced himself as Ron. Sara pictured a Marine: broad shouldered, crew cut, and matter of fact. “What? Her driver’s license… Continue Reading
Undercurrents 
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