Ten Short Stories. I think the strongest two are Serial (written with J.A. Konrath) and The Pain of Others (Letty Dobesh/ Good Behavior). I also really liked Shining Rock, Perfect Little Town, The Newton Boys' Last Photograph and The Meteorologist.
Favorite Passages:
*69
"When we finally did the deed, she just laid there, absolutely motionless, making these weird little noises. She was terrified of sex. I think she approached it like scooping up dogshit."
Shining Rock
"Everything tastes better on the mountain."
_______
"Sometimes, I can talk about it without ripping the stitches, but not tonight, I guess."
Perfect Little Town
. . . he loves this about her - how she can go from psychobitch to DEFCON 5 in two nanoseconds.
_______
"Look, I'm cold and hungry and my penis hurts. Let's go get drunk at a nice restaurant and deal with this tomorrow. Positive thoughts, remember?"
_______
"So where the fuck is everybody? This town's dead."
_______
Ron spins around, stares at a Dumpster capped with snow, at the power lines above his head, dipping with the weight of several fragile inches that have collected on the braided wire, hears a rusty door several blocks away swaying in the wind, hinges grinding.
It occurs to him that he might be losing his mind, and he sits down against the building and buries his head between his knees and prays for the first time in many, many years.
_______
"The old ways had a dark side."
Ron turns away from him and walks across the heat-browned grass, trying to remember what the mountains looked like without all the glass and steel.
The janitor calls after him, "So do we, Mr. Stahl, and now there's nothing to remind us."
_______
We are spread across the country now, old and dying or dead already, and we have mostly acclimatized to the absurdity of daily life in the fourth decade of the twenty-first century, although occasionally we regress and rant.
To journals.
Our fellow dinosaurs.
To our children who bring their children to visit us in nursing homes.
We go on about how it used to be - the extinct and glorious slowness of life and other artifacts:
The pleasure of eating real food, seeded and grown out of ground proximate to your own doorstep.
Decency.
Community.
Respect for the old traditions.
We tell all who will listen, but mostly ourselves, that we once lived in a perfect little town in a perfect little valley, where life was vivid, rich, and slow.
And once in a while, someone will ask why it can't be that way again and we tell them sacrifice. There's no sacrifice anymore. And they nod with enlightened agreement, that special condescension reserved solely for the old, without the faintest idea of what we really mean.
Serial
Recreational murder was becoming more trouble than it was worth.
_______
A ripe plum, ready to pluck.
_______
Smart kid. But not that smart.
The really smart ones don't hitchhike.
_______
"By the way, what's your blood type?"
_______
White trash punching the minimum wage clock, not one to pay much attention.
The Newton Boys' Last Photograph
Their sunglasses reflect the backpack on the raft which will hold the camera, which will hold the film, which will hold this eerie, smiling moment.
An Introduction to "The Meteorologist"
What if there was a man whose life's mission was to experience weather in all its extremes, because it was the only way he could come close to feeling alive? More interesting . . . why was he this way, and how did he get by in the world?
The Meteorologist
You embraced a storm by standing in the middle of the goddamn thing, feeling the rain beat down on your face, letting the wind bully you, trying not to flinch when the thunder dropped right on top of your head.
________
Peter looked at his keys dangling from the ignition. He touched them. Opened his door and stepped down into the grass.
Lightning bugs everywhere.
A lone cricket screeching maniacally.
________
"Melanie, I've been trying to get myself into this position for ten years. This is a once in a lifetime kind of --"
"What position? Getting yourself killed by a tornado?"
"I don't expect you to understand, but I am asking you to please just let me have this moment. Let me do this without interference. I think about it every day. I dream about it all the time. This is what I want. This is all I want."
"So I just step back, let you commit suicide?"
"I could've shot myself years ago. This isn't about suicide, Melanie."
"Then what's it about?"
The twister sounded like sustained thunder, even from three miles away, the condensation funnel widening and darkening, cluttered with all it had scoured out of Selden - cars and stoves and splinters of siding and so many airborne shingles they resembled a flock of birds and God knows what else.
_______
Peter was still squeezing the steering wheel, holding onto some illusion of control. He let go, tucked his hands under his arms, and stared through the window. Drinking it all in. Fighting to stay with the moment, this last moment, but he kept seeing their faces -- clarity where for two decades there had been only blur.
Darkness again.
By the dashboard glow, Peter saw coins rising out of the drink holders.
His stomach lifted into his throat, and he had the inescapable sense that they were plunging earthward - exhilaration and fear and unbearable weightlessness.
________
And they had not smiled like this before. Noth in their lives. Like they'd borne witness to a private miracle. Been made to see. Called forth from their tombs.
There was nothing but grassland and morning sky as far as they could see, and the sound of wind moving through the tall grasses and the coolness of that wind was everywhere and upon everything.
An Introduction to "The Pain of Others"
Sometimes you get lucky and characters come fully-formed and ready to talk to you.
Letty Dobesh, the anti-hero of "The Pain of Others" did not disappoint. She truly wrote herself, and I had so much fun with her, I'm sure she'll show up in something else in the not too distant.
In the meantime, this is Letty's story. She's a thief, yes, but she has a conscience. I love her because she made this story happen for me. I hope you'll love her too.
The Pain of Others
Letty Dobesh, five weeks out of Fluvanna Correctional Institute on a nine-month bit for felony theft, straightened the red wig over her short brown hair, adjusted the oversize Jimmy Choo sunglasses she'd lifted out of a locker two days ago at the Asheville Racquet and Fitness Club, and handed a twenty-spot to the cabbie.
"Want change, Miss?" he asked.
"On a $9.75 fare? What does your heart tell you?"
_______
Through the streets of the old, southern city, the downtown architecture catching early light - City Hall, the Vance Monument, the Basilica of St. Lawrence, where a few churchgoers straggled in for morning mass - and on the outskirts of Letty's perception, secondary to her inner frenzy, a spectrum of Appalachian color - copper hillsides, spotless blue, the Black Mountain summits enameled with rime ice. A classic autumn day in the Swannanoa Valley.