Memoirous

  End of Summer . . . I see you leaving our bright land, The last cut flowers in your hand. “The Summer Ends” by Wendell Berry Summer isn’t over, exactly—but there is a feeling in the air. Of limited time. Ticking away in the gut. Get it done. I took the children to the river where a mill race used to run and where the stream is slowed by a terrace of rocks. They waded in and launched “boats,” bits of shaggy bark. We found a rotting crawdad on the muddy banks and sent it on its way upon the sluggish current. Above the bank is a knotted weeping willow, where Jack discovered a secret door. The boys climbed in and out of the twisting roots that still feed the old tree. Hard to believe. The blue and white checkerboard sky overhead was clear of smoke, humidity, ailment, and worry. We had today this summer day. The morning felt timeless, a throwback to the 1970s or some nostalgic era where kids rode their bikes and ran free and played hard and got dirty and came home lat...

A Green Glow on the Horizon Dawn Burns Cornerstone Press, 2026 Green Glow is a collection of linked stories supposedly compiled by an editor and written by survivors of tourist traps. The subtitle is: Tales from the National Association of Tourist Attraction Survivors. NATAS. It seems legit—but what is this book, the stories, really about? What are they really fighting against? I know Dawn Burns and her background and I have a good guess. The last story is about finding paradise in Hell. That is, Hell, Michigan—another made-up place?! I’ve actually been there. To the restaurant, the billboard, and putt-putt golf venue. It exists—but is it real? But I’m getting ahead of myself with existential questions. One may as well ask if Las Vegas is real or Heaven/heaven or any number of places that may or may not exist. And who gets to decide. I guess that’s what the book is about/asking. Let me pose my own question in the form of an anecdote. All across campuses, institutional sit...

In gymnastics they call it “sticking the landing.” Meaning: coming up with a solid finale to the piece, a culmination of all the bits and parts of plot, dialogue, and character. Hopefully, leaving the reader with a hmm instead of a huh?. The taste left in the mouth at the end of a great meal, the bit that stays with you. In my critique group I rely on Tim to help me stick the landings. Like it ends here or here is the last line. But, sometimes, all he says is it isn’t working or needs more and doesn’t tell me how to do it. When all I want is a story fairy godmother to swope in and fix it. Mostly, I want to live in denial and think everyone in my critique group is wrong. It’s hard to buckle down and see exactly how to end it. I mean I can end it, but what is the secret sauce the piece needs to really bring it together in that profound pondering way that feels like magic. I have a couple of examples. I had a short story about 7,000 words called “Museum of the Mall” (Spring 201...

I once invited a comedian to perform at a homeless shelter. There were several factors at the time that went into this decision. One) Everyone appreciates a little humor Two) Those starting out need a little help and feedback ie they need an audience Three) At the shelter day program you have a built-in audience ie they aren’t going anywhere, they love the extra attention, and, sometimes, participation is mandatory In Chicago I was part of an artist resource network and occasionally there were on-line notices from up-and-coming comedians working on a schtick looking for feedback, bookings, etc. I contacted one of them to see if they were interested. Thus, I booked someone I’ll call Frank. Frank arrived in the alley separating the two across-the-street shelters. I found him nervously smoking a cigarette. It’s gonna be fine, I said. To be honest, Frank wasn’t great. His routine needed a lot of work and polishing. But the guys were generous with their laughter and, at times,...