Sandpiper Feet

The 2025 Next Generation Short Story Awards Anthology of Winners features two short stories that I penned as chapters in a longer work of fiction. A wise (and well-published) author once told me to write what I know. “Fiction is hard,” he said. “Write about wine,” he said. I took his advice for ten years, but I was recently inspired to take the plunge into the murky waters of make believe when someone close to me made a much more difficult decision – the decision to come out. Sandpiper Feet was inspired by that bravery. The story was a finalist in the LGBTQ+ genre, but won the award in the Wild Card category. The competition and book are supported by the Next Generation Indie Book Awards, the largest International awards program for indie authors and independent publishers. If you prefer holding a book in your hands, you can find one at Headline Books or Amazon

The warm light of dusk shone through the dragonfly’s filigreed wings, illuminating each tiny pane and casting rainbow shadows that Angel captured in her tiny palm. She followed the creature’s movement as it careened off invisible breezes in search of unseen midges. Its wings twitched robotically, sending it forward, backward, and sideways in neck-wrenching maneuvers above the boat’s deck. You are so strange and so beautiful, thought Angel. How can you be so lovely to some and so frightening to others? Angel’s papa sat behind her with his weathered riding boots perched on the port side railing. He lit his pipe and released a stream of white smoke that chased the no-see-ums away. The dragonfly paused midair in confusion and then pivoted leeward in pursuit of prey downwind.

The Wise-Ass Doesn’t Fall Far From the Tree

The Spring / Summer issue of the Tulip Tree Review has been released and once again Tulip Tree Publishing has selected one of my memoirs for inclusion in the book. This issue is dedicated to “Wild Women” and it just so happens that the wildest woman I ever met was my mother. Those of you who prefer the tactile feel of paper can find the book on Amazon at https://rb.gy/uiof0

My father was a reserved man but that didn’t affect me. In my faith I am considered a wise-ass because my mother was a wise-ass.

To meet my mother was to be instantly won over by her oversized personality and generous sense of humor. She was a product of the great state of Indiana and in the parlance of her Hoosier upbringing, my mother Tessie was a hoot. She waged war on the safe, the conventional, and the reserved. Laughter was her ammunition and she always left the chamber empty.

The Jersey Slide

The Tulip Tree Review “Humor” issue has been released and it includes The Jersey Slide.

This is a tale about how a logical midwestern driver learned to drive in the chaos of New Jersey. This is a must-read for anyone who has ever dared drive in the Garden State!

“Whoa! When did you become a Jersey driver?”

I hadn’t seen much of my brother Jeff since I’d moved to New Jersey and his remark caught me off guard.

“What are you talking about?” Okay, so maybe I did roll through a stop sign with only the slightest pretense of braking but in my defense, I replied, “I stopped like thirty yards back.”

“Sure.” he said, “but you didn’t stop when you got to the stop sign. You coasted right through it on the bumper of the car in front of you, which coincidentally, didn’t come to a stop when it was his turn either.”

“Look. It’s a stop sign. I stopped. End of discussion.” I shrugged and added, “Besides, if you stop at a stop sign in New Jersey you’ll get rear-ended by the guy behind you.”

Walk It Off

Walk It Off was recently included in Tulip Tree Publishing’s anthology; Stories That Need to be Told 2022.

This is a tale about a lifetime of missteps, mishaps, and misbehavior, and the cure for the broken bones that resulted.

My parents raised four boys, two girls, three dogs, two cats, six gerbils, a turtle and a bat. Ours was a household filled with love, companionship and mortal danger. If we survived the dog bites, snakebites and kid bites, we still had to contend with smallpox, measles, and mumps – all of which could kill you or seriously hamper your social life. By necessity my mother was adept at the mending of cuts, burns, bee stings, botulism, plague and constipation.

Smooth As Silk

Since this platform is called WineSnark, I should point out that, although this tale never actually mentions wine, I did drink several bottles while I was writing it. And the story begins with the protagonist suffering from a hangover that would probably kill a Kodiak bear so I think that qualifies as wine-blogworthy.

Smooth as Silk was recently included in Tulip Tree Publishing’s anthology; Stories That Need to be Told 2021 and received the book’s Merit Award for Humor.

With a year of high school yet to complete, I looked west from the interstate entrance ramp, stuck out my thumb and turned my back on New Jersey. Three days later I woke up in a Racine, Wisconsin hospital. My throat was raw from a stomach pump, my back ached from the impact of a hundred cars plowing into one another, and my head throbbed from the impact of several gallons of Milwaukee beer and a bottle of cheap scotch. I was happy to wake up alive but unfortunately a hundred thousand brain cells had perished during the night.

It was this chain of events that brought me to live with my older brother Doug and paved the way for the tremendous bond that was to develop over the next year. Yes, this is the story about the love between me and my first car.

WineSnark Gets Physical.

New Book Features WineSnark Memoir

I’m holding a book in my hands and I love the feel of it. My friend Robin Robinson, author of The Complete Whiskey Course: A Comprehensive Tasting School in Ten Classes¹ explained, “There’s something special about the tactile pleasure of holding your thoughts in your hands.”  Conscious ideas and experiences suddenly have paper and ink to smell, an evocative cover to see, and rustling pages to hear. But it’s the weight in my hands that makes me realize that when it comes to the five senses, nothing gets my heart thumping like the sense of touch. I can’t help myself, I’m a tactile kind of guy (no, no – not tactful – you regular readers know me better than that). What I mean is that when it comes to pure joy, no other sense has been more universally incorporated into my experiences than the sense of touch.