from “Greenpoint,” published in Paper Darts

“You’re the only person I know who gets depressed when he realizes that he’s in love with his wife.” Ben started to run again, then immediately turned back to Josh. “You look at other women, and you want Maddie. I might just fucking kill you right now.”

Josh looked at his friend and laughed. He wasn’t sure where the laugh had come from, but it was there. Flooding out. Ben leaned in and slapped Josh lightly on his face.

“I just want the good, Ben. I want the good.” Josh slumped onto the grass, which was cold as day turned to night.

Ben reached into his knee-high sock and pulled out a pack of American Spirits. He lit one and stared down at Josh.

“The good’s there, man. Right in front of you,” Ben said, taking nicotine into his lungs.

My short story collection, or novel in stories: If You Waited Here, You Would See Almost Everything. Currently shopping. Share the love, s’il vous plaît. High-res

My short story collection, or novel in stories: If You Waited Here, You Would See Almost Everything.

Currently shopping. Share the love, s’il vous plaît.

Linked: The Charlie Stories

From my collection, here is the third set of showcased linked stories: The Charlie Stories. I hope you enjoy.

√ Duplex (in Brevity)

√ Sometimes When I Talk, It’s Like You’re Not Even There (in Up the Staircase Quarterly)

         Supplementary stories:

         √ Girl With Crescent Smile (in Pure Slush)

Linked: The Andre Stories

From my collection, here is the second set of showcased linked stories: The Andre Stories. I hope you enjoy.

√ Based on True Events (in Mixer)

√ We’re Grownups, After All (in Assisi)

         Supplementary stories:

         √ Greenpoint (in Paper Darts)

“Standing in the stairwell, Hannah gripped her daughter’s book and wondered why she did this, why she bothered with the long lunches and extra vacation days. None of it seemed to matter anymore. She was jealous of Ethan, of the time he spent at home with Alicia. But that wasn’t it. No, it was Ethan. Their marriage. The silences that now supplanted their conversations. He leaned over every night before falling asleep and kissed her shoulder and said, Don’t forget you love me. The words meant something once, long ago she thought, when they were young and naive and perfect. When she couldn’t imagine, even for a moment, forgetting how much she loved him. Now, she could barely look at him. He knew, she thought, but he didn’t care. Perhaps he had forgotten. She had tried, for some time, to remind him, but everything seemed to end in futility. Something new interrupted them, something unfamiliar and broken. She was at a loss as to what to do next. Leaning against the wall of the stairwell, she watched her daughter. Hannah took quick, unsatisfying breaths. Her marriage was worn, stuck between gears. It seemed the final miles had already come.”

from “Don’t Forget You Love Me,” published in Used Furniture Review

from “Union Square”

GIF made with the NYPL Labs Stereogranimator - view more at http://stereo.nypl.org/gallery/index

“When Elizabeth entered the bookstore, she could still hear the conversations and see the commotion pouring in from Union Square.”

from “Union Square,” forthcoming in Gris-Gris

Tennis Love: from “Forest Hills”

“He took up a spot on the last court, farthest from the lights. In the darkness, though, he could make out the white lines, the taut net, the side-by-side benches. Mary always insisted on her own bench. We smell too bad to share, she’d said with a laugh. Hank slipped off his shoes and moved to the service line. The manicured grass comforted his tired feet. Like a cloud, he thought. In his right hand, Hank gripped his racquet, and with his left, he bounced a ball. He could almost touch the smooth, felt nap. His toss was high, a motion that hadn’t changed since his teenage years, and he swung hard. Imagining Mary’s return, he shuffled to his right, hitting a forehand up the line. Mary would track the shot for sure, though, and return a backhand crosscourt. Hank hit a short ball back, hoping to draw Mary to the net. She rushed forward, slicing a drop shot just over the net. Raising his racquet, Hank clapped. Mary bowed and smiled, enjoying the attention. In the empty night, he could hear her critique his serve, that it was too windy for such a high toss, that he knew she would come to the net eventually, her voice as real as it had been all those years ago. She had always been there to return his shots, to keep the rally going. As he left the court, he imagined their back-and-forth, their epic battles, continued on without them, emerging like dew every morning and evaporating, at night, into the lights of Center Court.”

Danny Goodman, “Forest Hills”

“

I watched as he sang and danced and laughed at his own lyrics. He seemed, at that moment, distant from the man he had been.

“You know what the problem was with Maddie,” Andre said, trying to make eye contact with me. “She loved me.”

He sat down on the couch, his ass sliding closer to the edge. He closed his eyes. An odd grin, almost baleful, crossed his face. He repeated those last words again, softly, like an exhale.

Andre was dead by morning.

”

from “Based on True Events,” in Mixer

Linked: The Ben Stories

From my collection, here is the first set of showcased linked stories. I call them The Ben Stories. I hope you enjoy:

√ Greenpoint (in Paper Darts)

√ It Was the Light (in Metazen)

√ Late Night, Local Stops Here (in TrainWrite)

√ Somehow There Was More Here (in Found Press)

         Supplementary stories (with slight link):

      √ Based on True Events (in Mixer)

      √ Cloisters (in Mixer)

      √ Don’t Forget You Love Me (in Used Furniture Review)

Linked Stories, or A Novel in Stories

I like to think of my fiction collection as both—the stories themselves stand alone (I hope), and when read as a whole, the collection has a very novelistic feel. I aimed for both over the years of writing these stories, and whether I was successful or not, I suppose, is in the hands of the reader now.

As I am currently shopping for an agent with this collection/novel, I will be showcasing some of these “linked stories” this week on my site. Hope you enjoy, even a little.

(If you’re interested in discussing my writing, agent, editor, or otherwise, feel free to email me. Look forward to it.)

"Based on True Events" - in the Spotlight at Mixer!

Very excited to have my short story, “Based on True Events,” in the Spotlight at Mixer Publishing. Thanks to everyone for the support. Footnote Boosh!

(A follow-up story to “Based on True Events,” which focuses on Andre’s father, Dennis, after Andre’s death, was published by Assisi: “We’re Grownups After All.”)

“I hated melancholy, the way it could fester in a room and turn everything pale. There was nothing left to say, I thought, not today. It was then that Canadian Jay once again stood up, this time on a chair, and declared peameal bacon the greatest Canadian export since Alan Thicke.” Danny Goodman, “Somehow There Was More Here” “Danny Goodman is very special indeed. When you’re ready to scream about the shallow fields sown in contemporary, urban, hipster fiction, along comes Danny, who is himself contemporary, urban, and, thank god, an old soul, one who can actually capture and crystallize the modern experience.” — Joseph Boyden, author of the 2008 Scotiabank Giller Prize–winning novel Through Black Spruce 

“I hated melancholy, the way it could fester in a room and turn everything pale. There was nothing left to say, I thought, not today. It was then that Canadian Jay once again stood up, this time on a chair, and declared peameal bacon the greatest Canadian export since Alan Thicke.”

Danny Goodman, “Somehow There Was More Here”

“Danny Goodman is very special indeed. When you’re ready to scream about the shallow fields sown in contemporary, urban, hipster fiction, along comes Danny, who is himself contemporary, urban, and, thank god, an old soul, one who can actually capture and crystallize the modern experience.” — Joseph Boyden, author of the 2008 Scotiabank Giller Prize–winning novel Through Black Spruce