Through the Glass Darkly is my self-published collection of short stories. It is available on Amazon.com under L. Stewart Marsden.
But, be warned! It is not for the fainthearted reader.
Click here for this month’s free story from the book.
Copyright © 2012 by Lawrence S. Marsden,
My father. My children’s grandfather. My friend. by Jessi Clarkson, Skip’s daughter. You haven’t heard from my father in a while. He has been absent from this blog for health reasons. My sweet father passed away this Monday approximately 1:00 AM. My sisters and I gathered around his hospital bedside and held his hand as […]
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The Heritage A Short Story by L. Stewart Marsden It might have begun with Alex Haley’s phenomenon “Roots,” with its fictitious tracing forward of the ancestry and heritage of Kunta Kinte. When the TV series hit the airways, the nation became obsessed with the story — even though it was historical fiction. My […]
Dominoes L. Stewart Marsden Part One Frank Kramer rolled over and slowly opened one eye. The lids stuck from dried rheum, and he rubbed the mucus away. His vision was blurred, then cleared as he blinked repeatedly. The red digital numerals of his bed stand table clock blocked to form 4:30. He had awakened […]
It’s Not Easy Being Green L. Stewart Marsden Control v. the lack of control is a conflict I’ve lived with for most of my life. It’s at the heart of AA’s mantra — and gaining the wisdom to know the difference is, in my experience, a life-long pursuit. In retrospect, I’ve been far […]
The Womanless Man Continued, 10 L. Stewart Marsden Go to previous installment . . . Go to story beginning . . . * * * * * Almost immediately after the words came out Stew regretted them. What the hell was he doing? It was his old self kicking in — the one who wanted […]
The Womanless Man Continued, 9 L. Stewart Marsden Go to previous installment . . . Go to story beginning . . . * * * * * “A toast! Here’s to getting that cast off your leg!” They clinked glasses. Hers was a dry martini, his a Tom Collins. “I, for one, am going […]
The Womanless Man Continued, 8 L. Stewart Marsden Go to previous installment . . . Go to story beginning . . . * * * * * “Come in! Come in, please!” Stew was surprised and glad to see her. She stepped into the room. “I was in the neighborhood, as they say, and […]
The Womanless Man Continued, 7 L. Stewart Marsden Go to previous installment . . . Go to story beginning . . . * * * * * Mrs. McGuilicutty fluffed the pillows behind Stew’s back, then straightened the sheets that covered him. She reminded him of his grandmother — and even smelled of talc. […]
Writing Odds n Ends
I read it, OMG, and the skin on my back is still prickling. He was Death, was he not? It reminded me of a Greek myth of the love god Cupid visiting at night a woman he loved; he wouldn’t show his face. She held a candle to his sleeping visage one night and the hot wax dripped on his face and woke him. He never returned.
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He could be many things. As with my poetry, I never impose my interpretation on a reader. I had an English teacher in high school argue Richard Cory did not die from the bullet he put in his head. Go figure. But, he also turned me on to Midnight Cowboy, and Kurt Vonnegut, for which I’ll always be grateful.
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I read something very interesting about Kurt Vonnegut when he was in his nineties. I don’t know if you’ve seen it and I can’t remember where I saw it, but it was recently. A middle grade school in New York contacted several well known authors to come visit their school. Kurt was the only author who replied, and his letter was wonderful. He told the students he “resembles an iguana” and never went out anymore, but he did provide them with great advise about writing. I wish I could remember where I saw it. Yes, I saw Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voigt in Midnight Cowboy in the theatre with my then husband. We were young. He later died in a motorcycle crash, not too long after that movie. I always wondered about that. Your short story also reminds me of a song by Joan Baez, Sweet Sir Galahad.
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Baez was someone whose songs I learned when first playing the guitar. Black,Black,Black is the color of my true love’s hair. Polly Von . . .
I miss those days.
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I have a blue acoustic steel stringed guitar and a nice Aria classic guitar. I don’t play anymore but will take lessons on the acoustic. Wish I could sing. Maybe I’ll take singing lessons, too. Here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/03/14/kurt-vonnegut-xavier-letter_n_4964532.html
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Had a Martin D26 classical, but gave that to my son. Now have a Tacoma Road King acoustic. I’ve also learned a little harmonica. Self-taught in both cases.
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Great book and a must read. First night I could barely sleep for fear of boogeyman. The wonderful thing about this author – he does not tie up story with nice bow. Depending on your life experiences, you will come up with what happens next, that will differ from my interpretation. Definitely on the darker side of what I usually read but now I seek out more of his literature. He is that person who tells terrfic ghost stories. When you approach the next camp you hope he is there. So I was lucky to find he has a blog at skipmars.wordpress.com
In full disclosure, I volunteered to read manuscript. I received no monetary compensation for this review, just a fan!!!
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