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November 26, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "The Voice of the People" by Amanda Marlowe
As I was leafing through my copy of Thornton Wilder's The Skin of Our Teeth, I came across two letters. I knew what they were, of course. I had heard the story behind them more than once, and read them, but it was still a thrill to find them tucked inside the book.
One letter was a copy of a letter my mother had written Mr. Wilder when she was sixteen:
(A note on it indicated it was copied from a scratch version in 1949 and had been sent sometime in May 1947)
Posted by The Editors at 12:03 PM in Literary Journal
November 22, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Gramps's Record Player" by Mark Paxson
It was Gramps's old record player that did it. In the end, it almost ripped us apart, which would have been ironic. In the end, it brought us back together again.
My first memory of the record player was from a day my parents left me with my grandparents. Back in the mid-seventies when I was probably five or six years old. My grandparents were supposed to watch me while my parents shopped for a car. Mama had wrecked the car the week before and Daddy was none too happy about having to buy a new one. The last thing he wanted was for "the sniveling little brat" to come with them.
Posted by The Editors at 05:06 PM in Literary Journal
November 18, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Always Date an Honest Drug Dealer" by Amy Rideg
My landlord planted corn last summer where he had previously envisioned putting a hot tub. He mused that he had planted the seeds too closely together but thought they would grow just the same. Before this, the most he ever tended the yard was to give it a mow when the weeds got waist high in areas visible to the neighbors. That yields some pretty hearty weeds considering he stands at about six-foot-three. I figured if he grew corn the way he grew weeds, we would have a fine harvest.
Yuki1 was his garden inspiration. He said she could plant what she wanted in his yard if he would be able to eat some of what she reaped. I wondered how the deal worked as I watched him tending to the patch of ground he had hoed, where he had planted corn seeds too closely together, and that she had only visited a handful of times. I figured it didn't matter as long as the weeds were being whacked at more regular intervals.
Posted by The Editors at 05:24 PM in Literary Journal
November 14, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Gym Bag Steak" by Timothy L. Marsh
When I knew Conrad he was a sick old man who drank too much and couldn't walk anymore. He watched cooking shows and World War II documentaries and occasionally listened to Johnny Cash records. He lived with one of his daughters in a house he'd built with his own two hands in 1957 when whiskey cost a dollar and Newfoundlanders still did things like build their own houses.
Posted by The Editors at 04:23 PM in Literary Journal
November 10, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "After Seven Long Years" by Sheela Jaywant
It must have been around three in the afternoon, because my son had already had his lunch and had sat down to do his homework. His school-timings were from seven in the morning till one, and by the time he took the rickshaw home, it was 1:30. My dog and I, we usually waited for him outside the compound. It was maybe 49 degrees Celsius, probably even higher in the direct sun that day, for I distinctly remember we stayed in the shade of the khejdi tree that stood sentinel at the gate. I observed the sunflowers, drooping, yet facing stoically upwards: the stalks were nearly seven feet high and the blooms six inches across.
My maid, who watered the garden, had commented but a few weeks ago, "Madam, we haven't had such lovely flowers for nearly seven years now."
"Touch wood," I reacted.
Posted by The Editors at 11:23 AM in Literary Journal
November 06, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Survival of the Fittest" by Tamara Adelman
I'm forced to relax when I arrive on the island before my bike and bag. So, I head to the beach with my book, Deep Survival by Laurence Gonzales. At first I balked at the subtitle, Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why. After all, it's just an Ironman: a hopefully safe race that happens by choice. I mean, you do sign up for these things.
The book is not about Ironmans—although swimming 2.4 miles, biking 112, then running 26.2, a full marathon, might kill some people—it's about how fighter pilots learn to override their emotions and their instincts at crucial moments, how they focus so supremely that at times, they don't even know who their mothers are. It's helping me to develop the proper mindset for my fourth Ironman race, becoming a sort of bible that comforts me from my bedside table, and I'm grateful to my friend back in LA who recommended it.
Tears come to my eyes the next day when I go back to the airport and my bike box is there; partially I'm relieved, but now I have no excuse to get out of doing the race.
Posted by The Editors at 01:32 PM in Literary Journal
November 02, 2009 | From TC 9:3 - "Disappearing" by Robert Wexelblatt
Uncle Richard rubbed his hands together and looked benignly down on us. "Good. You're here. Now, what'll it be? Gin with your tonic, or vodka?"
I turned toward Bonnie.
"Vodka," she said eagerly.
"And for you?" asked Uncle Richard with a kindly smile.
"Same's fine."
He started toward the kitchen then turned back. "Lime?"
We both nodded, good little guests side by side on the white couch.
Posted by The Editors at 02:07 PM in Literary Journal
November 01, 2009 | 9th Annual Dead of Winter Writing Contest now OPEN!
The 2009 Dead of Winter Writing Contest is now open. Click here for contest rules. Please be sure to read the general contest rules (at the top of the page) as well as the Dead of Winter rules.
Deadline for entries is December 21, 2009.
Good luck!