Tag: #Fiction

  • Personal Review: “Jesus’ Son” by Denis Johnson

    Up until a couple of months ago, I hadn’t ever heard of Denis Johnson. (And yes, the rock I live under is very comfortable.) I found out about him from a review of Ted Geltner’s biography of Johnson, Flagrant, Self-Destructive Gestures. From that article, I was intrigued and put Johnson’s Jesus’ Son on my reading list.

    If I had pushed myself, I could have read the book in a day, but spreading it out over three seemed more appropriate. A couple of things jumped out at me, besides the fact that it was a quick read. First, this book of short stories just oozed 90’s literature, which is strange as most of the stories take place in the 70’s, while the stories themselves were written in the 80’s, and only published in 1992. I can’t fully say why it felt so 90’s, but it Gen-X despondent seemed to be lurking in corners. The second idea the book presented to me is that the drunk/addict poet or writer is rather cliché now. Maybe not as drunken muscled as Hemmingway, Kerouac, or Burkowski, but the stories in the volume ran in the same vein. Here, we are presented with pretty much the same first-person character from story to story, who is too poetic to be a regular run of the mill drunk. No, this is the tragic drunk writer whose writing is their only salvation – the thing that keeps them going.

    That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy the book. No, I was struck at how simple, and effortless everything in the stories felt. It carried such weight but drifted on the air. The destruction of a character’s life never felt so beautiful and fragile. No, I get why Jesus’ Son is placed on best of short story collection lists, year after year. Johnson’s stories and writing style has clearly been influential. I was about half way through “Car Crash While Hitchhiking” when it dawned on me how many flash writers must consider Denis Johnson a primary source, with his books lovingly squirreled away on their shelves.

    The final thought that I had while reading this book was that these stories felt like they were fun to write. Some books can feel laborious – not to read that is – such as writing it took time, work, dedication, perseverance to deliver the story exactly the way the writer wanted to tell it. Jesus’ Son felt like it was a blast to write. Either making it all up, or using real life situations, or maybe combining it all together, the end result was a book that felt like it was just as entertaining to write as it was to read.

    Having said all of this, I must now return to my home under the rock. There, I will toss this book up on the shelf, with all the other collections of short stories that I own and wonder how did I miss out on Denis Johnson when he was alive?

  • I’m back from fishin’ (Unedited)

    In reality, I was traveling to Texas to visit my family, especially my father. See, back on Labor Day, while my dad was staying with my brother and his family, my father had an angina episode. Though scary as all hell, it wasn’t a heart attack, and he is fine. He’ll have some follow ups with his doctor and cardiologist, but on the whole, he’s fine. I was staying with him for the week, to make sure that he took it easy and recovered. Besides, I like spending time with my dad. And I got to see my whole Texas family, so considering what had happened, it actually was a pretty good trip.

    Before the trip, it was awful. I got a call from my brother saying that Dad was having chest pains and they were taking him to the hospital. My brothers and sisters-in-law did a great job of keeping me and my family in the loop on what was going on, but being 1,500 miles away, all that it created in me was a feeling of powerlessness. Cheering on from afar, but knowing there was nothing I could do other than get on a plane.

    Funny how there are still instances and situations that I can find myself in that just smack me down to feeling like a helpless child.

    Though I told myself no to go there, not to think those thoughts; I did. I thought of living in a world without my father. To exist orphaned, no parents, lost and adrift. So what if I am middle aged? My folks are supposed to be here forever.

    But I already lost my mother. It will be six years this October. I can feel the gloom building in me as I get closer to that date. It’s not as bad as it was. I’m healing, learning to remember all the things that made her a wonder mom, and all the quirky weird stuff that she did that made her uniquely our mother.

    Just not ready to lose my father.

    And I haven’t, for which I am thankful. Still got some more time to make him laugh.

  • Just Some General Bitching (Unedited)

    I’m having a hard time getting myself motivated. To do anything, really.

    Doesn’t help that I got two rejections in the last twenty-four hours. But this is part of the gig; Lots of rejection, and trying to not let it get to you. I’m at the point now where I am beginning to think that the story really isn’t that great. Or it needs a rewrite. Or maybe I just need to burn it and rid it’s presence from my life.

    The other thing is that I have spent the past hour catching up on my flash reading. I subscribe to a large number of online journals who email out flash fiction, and I have fallen behind of late, or the whole Summer. Anyway, I’m trying to get on top of it, and see what is worth reviewing. Nothing has been peaking my interest, and I started to think maybe it’s not the fiction, but me. Maybe my head isn’t in the right space for this.

    Time to take a break.

    More like changing gears, because here I am working on the blog. I have to get in my 1,000 words a day. (You know, it’s not so much writing as it is typing, and I think somewhere Truman Capote is laughing with me.) The only way to get better at something is practice. Practice! PRACTICE!

    As I sit here, I remember once, maybe back in college or sometime in my past, there was this writer complaining how much they hated blogs and bloggers. They said it was useless writing as all bloggers do is bitch about things in badly written ways. I don’t think writer was totally wrong.

    Yet, I feel that someone needs to sit down here and take a stand to say that some writing should just bitching, complaints, and listing of grievances. Isn’t bitching a form of expression?

    Sure, it would be better if I could string this expression in a clear narrative form, that has a well-defined beginning, middle, and end – with that end being a wonderful conclusion the initial thought. That would be nice and clean and concise.

    But life is messy and not clean, and sometimes this human experience is muddy, and gross, and undefined and rough and jagged. And uses bad grammar and has typos or type-o’s, or however one would spell that word.

    Sometimes you just got to get it off your chest to move on. And sometimes you want to scream into the void that a blog. A testament, a covenant that this moment existed, and was real, and had a value to no one else other than the person who wrote it.

    There you go.

  • Flash Fiction Review – “Two days after I died” by Justine Sweeney

    (The flash fiction story “Two days after I died” by Justine Sweeney was published on March 19th, 2026 at Milk Candy Review.)

    “Two days after I died” by Justine Sweeney is the type of flash piece that makes me love flash writers as they can be inventive and playful with this form, while at the same time making me ask, in a mischievous way, “What did I just read?”

    In “Two days after I dies” Justine Sweeny gives to us the character of a recently realized ghost. I love that this spirit is frantic and unhinged – tethered to this world, either unable or unwilling to leave it. Sweeny uses effectively simple techniques here; lack of capitalization, run-on sentences, and short words that make a choppy, staccato rhythm to the piece. What the writer creates is a spirit’s frenzied attempt to get all of these words out and tell us this self-perceived vitally important story. There is an anger to this ghost. A viciousness in her as she is annoyed that someone she doesn’t know well would dare post a personal reflection of her passing on social media. There is a hint at humor in the beginning, but as the fury builds, the tone begins to switch to an unhealthy bitterness which is out of proportion to the allegedly aggrieved crime. Take how the ghost lists all the offenses of this woman. Though the ghost sees the offenses as unforgivable transgressions, we start to feel a sense of jealousness in the comparison of their motherly actions. And when the twist arrives at the end, it lands with pity, and a disbelief that one, even in the afterlife, is so wrapped and warped in grievance, lacking the empathy to acknowledge that there is one person they cared about suffering in their mourning. But most haunting is how this ghost seems to lack even the slightest hint of remorse or regret that she is no longer with her children.

    Sweeney’s “Two days after I died” is a very short and compacted work, but it left me with wonderful questions to roll over in my head. Was the woman who posted on social media really affected to the degree that she claimed, or was it as the ghost suspected, a bit of online grief porn? Can one’s anger and bitterness make a person completely blind to their loved ones suffering? Can animosity and hostility follow us into the next world? Clearly, the theme was meant to apply to us in the here and now, but “Two days after I died” is a succinct rumination of the metaphysical possibility that a life lived unwell, will leave you emotionally untethered in spitefulness.

  • ODDS and ENDS: World Cup, Working Out at Home, and Saturday at 8:30pm

    ODDS and ENDS: World Cup, Working Out at Home, and Saturday at 8:30pm

    (Life ain’t always what it seems, oh, yeah…)

    Father exercising indoors by jumping, sweat on face, son sitting on couch watching TV with remote
    A father works out in the living room while his son watches TV.

    The World Cup has started, and I fell asleep watching Mexico and South Africa. Please don’t take that as a reaction to a very boring game. No, that is just what happens to me now when I sit down on the couch by myself; within fifteen minutes I will fall asleep. Anyway, Like I thought, Mexico won in a very bizarre red card heavy match. I thought that South Africa’s goalie, Ronwen Williams, was actually pretty good, it was just the rest of his team couldn’t keep their cool. Anyway, I also watched South Korea play and beat the Czech Republic. Korea didn’t look great out there, but they did look competitive, and when they play Mexico, I suspect that match will be filled with fireworks from the aggressive play. As for today, I intend on watching some of Canada v Bosnia and Herzegovinian, and I say some as I have errands that I need to run with the kid before the thunderstorms hit today. The big match will be USA v Paraguay. For me to believe in this Team USA, they have to win this match. They need to win their group and get past the first round of the knockout stage. Just saying…

    So, the kid is now on summer vacation, which for me means that I don’t have to get up at 5:30am. How that translated into today was that I over slept to 7am. Not a big deal, but it did throw off going to the gym, as I had to go and move the car for the street sweeper. This is a very long way to go to say that I had to go my calisthenics at home, in the living room, in front of the kid, who found all the exercises I do very funny. Mind you, I have only been doing this stuff for about a month, but my kid was confused and asked, “If you do all this stuff, why haven’t you lost weight?”

    LET’S GO KNICKS!!!