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“Not that I dislike the sport, but I’m not really a football fan and I was surprised at how I enjoyed the story. I felt for the characters and though sad and tragic at points it was a good read.” –Karen McCall

“When I came across this book, I was interested in the suspense that was described, although I have no liking for football what so ever. I decided to give this a try based on the reviews and I am so glad that I did. This book is a very simple read and it’s written in a lax style that allows me to enjoy this book without too much concentration. The writer wastes no time introducing the key stars in this book, Ryan, Tyler, Avery, and Jacob. I like that I knew exactly who each of the boys were right from the beginning of the book, and I was able to gauge their character and have a better understanding of their actions as the book progressed. The football scenes in the book were tolerable for me and I was continuously engaged and kept wanting to read more, especially when the action begins in the story.” –Ashlie Walton, from her Amazon review

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About the story:

Ryan, Tyler, Avery, and Jacob are high school football stars. Everyone looks up to them. They’re living the life that young boys and men dream of and are right at the point of having it all: a state championship, college paid for, a chance for big money and even more glory in the NFL. It’s all there in front of them; the future they and everyone expects.

Then something happens that could bring it all crashing down. And they can’t tell the truth because it’s even worse than having to keep the secret for the rest of their lives. They make a pact to cover it up and never tell.

Hiding the truth fuels their escalating addictions and pushes them in different directions as they try to erase the past, deal with the present and hope for the future.

But at some point, in some way, there’s always a price paid for lies told.

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“You have to change that ‘the world’s against me,’ shit.” Her laugh rang sharply in the room, raising echoes of when it had been a happier sound and not tired of the sameness of him, not done with the lameness of him. “World don’t give a damn about you.” She shook her head and crossed […]

THE CALL -- Short Fiction by Dennis Lowery


THE CALL delivers a compelling message for parents and their teenage or young adult children. In it, we find that love—even with the challenges the relationship presents—is what’s important… it can heal and if you’re ‘lost‘… it can bring you home.

The Story

Jolted awake by the buzzing and vibrating on the nightstand next to me, I focused on the numbers from my clock projected on the ceiling above: 02:18. I had to be up in less than three hours and at work in four. I blinked, shook my early-Monday sleep-muddled head and then reached for my phone. “Hello?”

“Daddy?” I could barely hear the whisper over the static. That line hiss something I’d not heard in years. When the frantic sound of a young voice crying became clearer, my heart pounded. I gripped the phone and glanced over at my wife who was turning on her side to face me.

“Daddy, I know it’s late, but don’t… please, don’t say anything, until I finish. And before you ask. Yes, I’ve been drinking. I ran off the road a couple of miles back, and…”

I drew in a sharp, shallow breath, pressed my hand against my forehead, then rubbed my eyes. Sleep still fogged my mind, something was wrong.

“I got so scared, and all I could think about was how it would hurt you and mom if the police came to your door and told you I’d been killed. I want…” I heard her take a deep breath. “I want to come home. I know running away was wrong. I know you’ve been worried sick. I should have called you before now, but I was afraid… so afraid…”

Her sharp cries pierced me. Immediately, I pictured my daughter’s face, and then my senses cleared. “I think you–”

“No! Please let me finish! Please,” she pleaded. I paused to think what to say. Before I could go on, she continued, “I know I shouldn’t be drinking… especially now, I’m sorry Daddy, but I’m pregnant and… and… I’m scared, Daddy. Really scared!”

The voice broke again, and I bit my lip, hard. I looked at my wife now sitting up, as she silently mouthed, “Who is it?” I shook my head, and she shifted closer to me, putting her head next to the phone held to my ear.

“Are you still there?” Worried at my silence, the faint voice continued, “Please don’t hang up! I need you. I’m so alone.”

I squeezed the phone tight in my hand. “I’m here, I won’t hang up,” I said.

“I know I should have told you. But when we talk, you just keep telling me what to do. You read all that stuff on how to talk about sex and all, but all you do is talk. You don’t listen and won’t let me say how I feel. It’s as if it’s not—my feelings aren’t—important. Because you’re my father, you think you have all the answers. Sometimes I don’t need them; I need to figure things out first and not jump into an argument where we both get mad. I love you Daddy, but I just want you to understand.”

I choked down the rising lump in my throat and thought about all the how-to-talk-to-your-kids information I’d read. “I’m listening,” I whispered.

is it safe to buy accutane from canada“You know, back there sitting in my car on the side of the road, I started thinking about the baby—I made the mistake, it’s my fault—and how I had to take care of my child. I couldn’t get a cell phone signal, it’s a cheap one, so I started walking. Then I saw this phone booth, and in my head, I could hear you going on about how people shouldn’t drink and drive. So, I called a taxi.” The shuddering of a racking cry came through the phone. “And then I had to call you.” I heard her voice thicken with sobs, stronger now, “I want to come home.”

“That’s good, Honey,” I said and let out a breath I didn’t know was held. “Come home.” My wife laced her fingers through mine.

“I think I can drive now. I’m going to–”

“No!” I snapped and squeezed my wife’s hand. “Please, wait for the taxi. Don’t hang up on me until it gets there.”

The line crackled and hissed. “I just want to come home, Daddy. I love you and mom.”

“I know. Come home, but do this for your Daddy. Wait for the taxi, please.”

I listened, in fear, to the white noise on the line. When I didn’t hear her answer, I closed my eyes and prayed she wouldn’t go—hadn’t gone—back to her car. “Honey!” Then the static stopped, and I could hear her clearly.

“I think this is my ride.” I heard a car engine coming closer in the background. It slowed to an idle. A tick-tick-ticking sound. Someone—a man’s voice—called out, “Hey, you call for a cab?”

I felt the taut muscles across my chest and shoulders release. I took a deep breath and let it out.

“Hang on just a second,” I heard her reply to the driver and then to me, her voice still shaky but not as unsettled, “I’m coming home, Daddy.”

With a click my phone went silent, its display dimming and then going dark in the moment I sat there staring at it. Releasing my wife’s hand, I put my phone back on the night-table and moved from the bed with tears spilling from my eyes. I walked out into the hall and down it to stand in my sixteen-year-old daughter’s room. The darkness was still but for the soft sound of the turning blades of her ceiling fan. I could hear my breathing and felt my heart thumping in my chest. My wife came from behind, wrapped her arms around me and tilting it up, rested her chin on the top of my shoulder.

I wiped tears from my cheeks with the palm of my hand. “We… I… have to learn to listen.”

She turned me around to face her. “We will. You’re a good father.” She hugged me tightly, and I buried my head at the nape of her neck in her long hair, and we held each other for an armful of heartbeats. Then I pulled away, turned and watched my daughter asleep in her bed.

My wife’s hand stroked the side of my face and rested there for a second. It felt warm in the cool air. “Do you think she—the girl on the phone—will ever know she dialed the wrong number?”

I looked at our sleeping daughter, then back at her. “When she gets home, she will… and maybe it wasn’t really a wrong number.” I leaned down and kissed my wife on the forehead and then straightened, “At least not for me, and I hope not for her.”

“Mom, Dad, what are you doing?” The voice came from under the covers. I walked over to my daughter, who had sat up and was staring at me, the phone in her hand—as a nightlight—shining on her face. “We’re practicing,” I replied as I sat on the edge of her bed.

“Practicing what?”

“Listening,” I whispered and brushed the hair away from her face. “Listening, Honey.”


A few years ago, I read different—shorter, rough—versions of this premise in the public domain without attribution: one of those things online with a string of dated (old) ‘shares.’ Being the father of four daughters, I thought its message moving and compelling, but its premise as a story deserved improvement. So, I rewrote the story and think this version is worth sharing.

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THE CALL delivers a compelling message for parents and their teenage or young adult children. In it, we find that love—even with the challenges the relationship presents—is what’s important… it can heal and if you’re ‘lost‘… it can bring you home. The Story Jolted awake by the buzzing and vibrating on the nightstand next to […]

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If 'Times Are-A-Changin,' Should Classic Stories Change, Too?

If times are-a-changin’ should classic stories–like CARMEN–change too? No… and (sometimes) YES. In general, I say “No.” I’m against revisionism of the past or the changing of classic works—I don’t believe they should be edited, whitewashed or altered to fit modern sensibilities. Though they may not be politically correct or include what’s no longer acceptable (or […]

HONEY - Where's That Book_ Flashfiction by Dennis Lowery


Bob and Jane sat at the table with Sandy and Timmy that Friday morning. When the work and school day ended, it was the beginning of a holiday weekend, and they had special plans.

Just the day before, Bob had picked up his new 1958-model Edsel from ‘Big Jim’ Axelrod’s Ford dealership over in Union City. It now shone prettily just outside the kitchen windows, and he looked forward to a long drive over the weekend. Bob wasn’t the kind—because of the ‘gaddam idiots not paying attention’ driving through the neighborhood—to park his car on the street. He’d insisted on moving the Oldsmobile so he could get the new Ford under the carport. That he’d have to then back the Olds out of the one-car driveway each time to get to it hadn’t sunk in yet. But then Bob wasn’t much for long-range planning.

Jane—worried that bills were getting out of hand and now this car—followed his look at the new debt through the window. She wore a not-quite-latest-fashion-but-still-nice, gray, dress with a wide white collar that framed her strong, lean, neck and high cheek-boned face perfectly. She smelled of lilacs this morning. A new scent she’d found that Arturo, the pool-boy at the club, seemed to like a great deal. He called it ‘Lilicks…’ and would laugh as he burrowed his head between her–.


She blinked away the memory of what she loved so much, but Bob wouldn’t do and looked at him. He had shifted his face around the edge of the newspaper to look at her. “Yes, dear?”

“Are you okay?” He looked concerned.

She canted her head; felt her hand rise to her ear and then stopped. She’d almost started to tug her right earlobe. Bob knew she only did that when she was nervous about something. He’d be on to her. Instead, she brushed a lock of hair, that hadn’t fallen out of place, back from her brow with the palm of her hand.

“I’m fine, dear.”

He grunted. His usual response when he didn’t quite believe something he’d heard someone say… or more often, didn’t really care. But then added before ducking back behind The Daily Courier, “You’re kinda flushed, you running a fever?”

“Really, dear… I’m all right.” She felt a catch in her voice and hoped he hadn’t heard it over Timmy and Sandy fighting about the last slice of buttered toast. She was meeting Arturo that afternoon—between the Church Planning Committee luncheon and picking up the kids from school—at the Golden Pavilion motel where 6th Street ended at Highway 9 and felt the warmth rise again. But not on her face this time; she clenched her thighs. “Any good news in the paper?” Getting him talking about that always worked.

“If someone—and I mean the gaddam president—doesn’t do something about them Russkies… they’re going to take over Europe.” Bob had fought in World War Two, serving in Patton’s 3rd Army, and was still pissed that the US had let the Russians enter Berlin first. “And then they’ll be landing in New York.”

“Yes, dear.” It was automatic and came out of Jane’s mouth without thought. She was still thinking of Arturo singing, Return to Me, to her last weekend. He so looked like Dean Martin. Then he had put his mouth on her and his tongue would– “What’s that, dear?”

where can i buy accutane in the ukHe had the paper down and was looking at her again. “What’s that you’re humming?”

A bright light, like God had taken their picture, whitened their faces.

Bob, Jane, Sandy, and Timmy looked out the window.

“Honey, where’s that book, you know… the one about–”

The lights went out, and they felt the house shiver then groan. Just before the window blew in, Bob thought of the Edsel… and them ‘gaddam’ Commies.

# # #


I wrote this little story after I saw this:

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A Vignette

The AFTERWORD for a client project that published in February 2018. When Jack (the author) and I were talking about that book—his second and the complement to his debut title published last year—I thought it was the perfect sequel. And as we developed his first draft, the subject of conversation turned slightly to a title […]

Types of Clients Since 2010

Writing | Ghostwriting | Re-Writing / Improving / Editing | Story & Book Development | Publishing

Their book projects range from memoirs and novels to geopolitical, history (including historical fiction), military, self-help, business and career-related topics.

  • Scientist
  • President of a Nonprofit Organization
  • Plastic Surgeon, renowned Physician of the Year
  • Deputy National Security Advisor
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  • General, US Marine Corps (retired), former Assistant Commandant of the US Marine Corps
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  • Colonel, US Marine Corps (retired)
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  • 4 Attorneys (with specialized practices)
  • Major General, US Army
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