Short tales from The Valley of the Trolls
Natalie was born in Enoch Bunch’s trailer bed, a-way pas’ midnight, under a rare third moon in chill October. Or maybe she was left there. Continue reading
Deep in The Wood
Carrot Ranch
Giant Change
Hugo, as a young one, as seen by Kittelson
Hugo was unhappy. He’d been left in the tree swing too long. The swing, his favorite, hung from a branch of the biggest Douglas fir on Heffinger Mountain. A snack, a nap, a swing in the sack, and he’d be a happy boy all day. Continue reading
Free Woman
It shimmered in the oven: double the fruit, delicate lattice work across the top, pattern broken once by carefully cut leaves, light glaze over the whole thing. She smiled, satisfied. Continue reading
Mag? Yeah, No
Carrots. Original public domain image from Wikimedia Commons
(The prompt was “robotic writer,” the experience all-too-familiar as we send out our work to editors and publishers. Read on…)
Dear [editor],
Please consider my work, [insert story title], for publication in your esteemed [media type], [publication name]. At [number] words, this [genre] story about [catchy character name], a [adjective][character trope], is an excellent fit for your upcoming [special focus] issue. I am an avid reader of [publication name]! Continue reading
Lonely Heart
Carrots. Original public domain image from Wikimedia Commons
“I’d rather be swinging on a star than crouched over this bowl of stale pretzels,” Thomas moaned into his lowball. Continue reading
Shifting Boundaries
Carrots. Original public domain image from Wikimedia Commons
Lois started awake, struggling with her sleeping bag, before recalling she’d agreed to camping with Kenny. Not too keen on the northern woods, wild animals, and biting flies, but fair was fair. He’d gone to that Writer’s Conference with her, and from all appearances had a great time. Continue reading
Mother Loaf
Well, at least he’s happy.
I wasn’t expecting a visit from my teenaged, road-working son, but here he is, leaning into a half-eaten, torn-into loaf of walnut-wheat bread, butter disappearing quickly. His bent arms are long enough to eclipse the entire side of my kitchen table, effectively blocking me out. Yes, of course I fed my kid. You always feed your kid. They never completely grow up, not in your eyes. Continue reading
Valley 