Hi, I'm Steve
This is my newsletter on longing, purpose and finding your place in the world
Resolve, Part One
He sat at the table and by the light of the small table lamp studied the worn road atlas. There all the land opened wholly before him, flat, pallid and bleak, the corners curling skyward as he searched amongst the smudges and gray silhouettes, a bloodshot array of roadwork, for
Thanks for Nothing
Edith pulled down the drive to the house and rattled to a stop next to a late-model, blue sedan. She just sat there trying to place the owner and then finally got out and walked over and cupped her hands to the glass. The inside was spotless, glistening clean, floor
Clinging to Relevance
The motel sat back from the road along a tall stretch of longleaf pines where nested, according to the Restricted signs reflected in the Jeep’s headlights, a population of red-cockaded woodpeckers. John David parked beneath the lighted entranceway and turned off the engine and looked at the little dog,
Grounded
In a rhombus of chaff and sunlight perched a gray-haired, old man on a metal stool, his eyes were closed and his head bowed reverently, like some parody of a backwoods preacher in his dusty coveralls and open palms resting on a sprawling conveyor contraption as if communing with the
Hearts of War
Late Summer, early September. Before everything. John David laid splay-legged and barefoot on the bed, wearing only a pair of faded jeans. His arms were guarded and crossed, held snuggly against his bare chest while behind closed lids his eyes flittered about like some restless mayfly. Small. Fitful. Gone. Buzzing
After Everything
Of all the grim journeys a soldier may face none may be more daunting and unpredictable than returning home from war.
About the book
My Novel-Work-in-Progress, The Dead Lion, published in serial form.