I had seen her a few times. What she was doing in this hole wasn’t my business. But she didn’t fit in. Nice clothes; her face, an un-inked ivory oval framed by dark hair, caught the dim lights in the bar. Eye’s that if the light was better would have probably been a bright blue. And curves; the kind to make a train jump the tracks. Distracting, follow her every move just to see things shift under her clothes, kind of curves.
Below on the left is an image that caught my eye, and as happens often, it made me think of the story behind it. Was it an accident? A suicide? And then I realized—with her outstretched arms, hair whipping over her eyes—she looked like a lost and falling angel. What could cause her to fall? […]
Read the opening scene here.
Christianity—The Old Testament—says, “For God did not spare angels when they sinned but cast them into Hell and committed them to chains of gloomy darkness to be kept until the Judgment.” And modern Orthodox Rebbeim believes that “Angels don’t have free will and are pre-programmed to perform certain duties. When an angel’s duty is completed, the angel ceases to exist.”
But what if an Angel—as it is sometimes with Humans—found renewed purpose through discovering free will and redemption by not accepting an imposed (self or otherwise) Hell.
What if one man’s path to salvation was through trying to solve the mystery of an apparent ‘jumper’ suicide attempt. A young woman that cannot be identified that no one cares about, who disappears and he finds out what happened to her.
That they both have fallen doesn’t matter… it’s that they got up.
“Run my dear,
That may not strengthen
Your precious budding wings.”
Sometimes there’s a reason for what’s happened—what happens—to you. And what you’re called upon to do… or that you don’t do, can have life-changing consequences.
“The only way out is through.”
— Robert Frost
Read the opening scene here.
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light? Or just another lost angel… City of Night…” —Jim Morrison She had misjudged when they would take her wings; punishment for her questions, her doubts. For her the fall was real. Pain. She knew that was what they—humans—called it. But had never felt […]
Began writing mid-January 2018; just passed the 72,000-word mark. Historical fiction (my fourth story/project in the genre) for publication Spring 2019.
With thanks to Dan Caldwell; something we talked about inspired this story. He slowed the rocker when he heard the steps come out onto the wooden-floored porch. His eyesight was failing, but hearing was still sharp as ever. Those boards—how they sounded when trod on—told him it was his great-grandchildren. “Alice… and Jimmy, you came to […]
Old photographs of strangers, discovered in this way, seem precious, even faintly sacred. And who can resist studying the stranger’s face for clues to a suddenly pressing question: Whatever happened to you?” -Dan Barry, New York Times January 25, 2018—while at the New York Times building—I got to meet Dan Barry, a reporter, and writer-at-large. […]
The man sat on the patio chair and watched Petunia play with her string of beads large and small. She’d grab them and run across the yard, look back at him to make sure he was watching, then take off again… a pale pink streak with them streaming behind her like an optimistic kite tail […]
A little warm-up writing (draft) from this morning’s coffee… (spurred by this image and a ‘mock’ cover I created that could one day be a real story). Spring had died, drowned by the climbing mercury in the giant thermometer on the brick wall of Tilson’s bar she could see by day in rising and fading […]