Soon the Light Will be Perfect (Novel) — Hanover Square Press, Spring 2019
“My mother is getting sicker. She doesn’t want us to know, so she turns on the water in the bathroom sink when she vomits, but we can still hear…” Click here to purchase.
Shame by a Thousand Looks: The Microaggressions of Poverty (Essay)– Salon, Spring 2019
“When I was a kid, my family suffered two tragedies that planted us firmly in America’s lower middle class: my father lost his job…” Click here to read more.
Rage Against the Melancholia (Essay) — Literary Mama, Spring 2018
“On Sunday nights I get brutally sad. Forlorn might be a more precise word for what I feel when my wife and I finally get the kids to bed…” Click here to read more.
Flight (Fiction) — Slice Literary Magazine, Spring 2015
“The first time MJ sees the plane he’s gone. Runs a straight shot away from me to the field where the trail opens up. Scares the shit out of me, because the only time…” Click here to read more.
A Winter Storm (Fiction) — Blinders Literary Journal, Winter 2015
“The front door of the bar swung open and a gust of snow blew into the room. Someone yelled, ‘Shut the damn door!’ The guy who walked in used both arms to latch the door…” Click here to read more.
A Return to Rothko (Fiction) — The Apple Valley Review, Spring 2014
“My mother catches me playing with our dead dog when I’m eight. The dog is a mutt. Part Lab, part collie, part everything. She’s black with tufts of white hair on her underbelly and her nose. She’s older…” Click here to read more.
“When the rooster was close, Ira stepped forward and again kicked Stalin, this time launching the rooster out of the coop. It ran to the chain-link fence at the edge of the yard and pecked at the ground…” Click here to read more.
“She lit a cigarette at the table and smoked a few drags, then ran to the bathroom to be sick. I sat high in the tree in the backyard. Through the bathroom window, I saw her shaking over the toilet. In the kitchen, Silas picked up…” Click here to read more.
“The photographs start showing up three months after you disappear. Each envelope contains a stack of thirty-six obscure photos, an entire roll of film. Blurry semi trucks on the highway. An oak leaf floating…” Click here to read more.
“My mother bought me the video camera hoping I would produce some of the screenplays I wrote in middle school, but its main use was to shoot Jacob, Ethan, and me fighting in Jacob’s basement. His mother…” Click here to read more.
“At fifteen I lunged into the world head first, eyes open. Call it coming of age. Call it whatever you’d like. I was alive in a new way. I tried girls, weed, beer, cliff jumping, getting lost in the woods, staying…” Click here to listen to the entire segment.
“It’s late March 2013 in Maine. The ground outside is blanketed with snow from an unexpected spring snowstorm, and Tyler Gaudet ’07 and Jackson McLeod keep looking outside while they…” Click here to read more.