March 23, 2021

“Real Estate,” A Novel Excerpt by Kathryn Holzman

“Real Estate,” A Novel Excerpt by Kathryn Holzman

A few passages from my novel, Real Estate, published by Propertius Press in November 2020.   Excerpt #1  Santa Clara Valley, 1962  On a cloudless Saturday afternoon in May 1962, Harriet Jackson rode her brother’s battered blue Schwinn bicycle along Mariani Avenue, alert for passing cars. She inhaled the delicate spring scent of newly budding manzanita blooms, delighted that her mother had sent her to the store for a quart of milk. As she pedaled, she sang “Johnny Angel,” mouthing the words as sung on her favorite 45 by Shelly Fabares.  Harriet let the breeze carry the lead but provided the chorus’s echo under her breath. The popular song complemented the sense of possibility in the crisp morning air. The rotation of her bike tires provided the backbeat. Together we will see how lovely heaven will be. She tilted the bike automatically into…

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March 15, 2021

“In the Hotel Room with Arles,” by Jeffrey Boldt

“In the Hotel Room with Arles,” by Jeffrey Boldt

1.  I first met Arlene Henson in law school. She’d been a teacher for twenty years and was in her early forties—which made her nearly twenty years older than me, and most of the rest of our class. But Arlene was still youthful and fun, and I never thought of her age as a significant factor in our friendship.   Her face had the gentle and patient look which you’d want to see on your favorite teacher, but it was also quick to flash into an ironic smile and even a dismissive, almost-cynical laugh.  Arlene was recently divorced from a Geography professor and she was attending law school on her share of the sale of their house in Milwaukee.   She’d been a collegiate swimmer, and still did triathlons; she often came to class in tight fitting athletic outfits which hugged her trim figure and still drew plenty of attention from young men half her…

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March 11, 2021

“Thirty Years in a White Haze,” A Memoir Excerpt

“Thirty Years in a White Haze,” A Memoir Excerpt

Dan Egan, with Eric Wilbur, has written a memoir which is true to its title: Dan’s three decades as an athlete in general and specifically one of the founders of the sport of extreme skiing. Thirty Years in a White Haze is his story as told to Eric. It is also the story of growing up in the Egan family and in particular becoming a world-class extreme skier alongside his brother John. We learn how they came to develop skiing abilities far beyond those of the average skier and to become extreme skiing stars in many of the legendary Warren Miller’s ski movies, ultimately arriving at the podium of the US Skiing & Snowboarding Hall of Fame in 2016. This excerpt is the book’s Prologue, and describes what is perhaps his most challenging and life-threatening…

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March 8, 2021

“She Is Going to Do Something Nutty,” by Raymond Abbott

“She Is Going to Do Something Nutty,” by Raymond Abbott

He told the police sergeant, as he knew he would, that he would leave right away and help however he might.  The address he wrote down was familiar to him.  It was in the Flats, an old Holyoke neighborhood or section of the city once inhabited by many different ethnic groups, although now almost exclusively Puerto Rican.  He shoved the paper with the address in his coat pocket and found his little black bag with the oils and other implements for giving what once was called the last rites of the church, but were now termed the sacrament of the sick, and headed off in the direction of the Flats.  Sixty-six Center Street.  He’d been there before, he was sure.  Only the week before, the adjoining block had burned up.  It was another of those…

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March 3, 2021

Bhuwan Thapaliya – Seven Poems from Kathmandu

Bhuwan Thapaliya – Seven Poems from Kathmandu

I’m sick of not seeing you    He poured himself  a glass of her thoughts    two years after she won  a scholarship to heaven    to pursue her PhD  in life after death    and sat down beside  her antique gramophone    with his senses  straining in the dark.    “I’m sick  of not seeing you,    I’m seeing only  the back of an African Wild Elephant  and the wide open jaws of the vultures.    Helpless days of confinement,  a stultifying inertia  and no knowledge of what comes next.    “Where are your  eyes in the sky, Grand Ma?” he sighed.    Where are the bald eagles?  Where are the rhododendrons?  Where? Where? Where?    He stammered and cried.      What type of poem am I?    “What type of poem am I?”  I am as formless as the clouds,  and as elegiac as the silence,  in the itinerary of the noise.    I am not a classic  written by the author,…

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