According to family lore, exactly forty weeks after my father won the prestigious and fiercely contested GravyLog® Pet Food account for his advertising agency, I was born.
Stella came from over the mountains. From a place battered by the lash of the wind and buffeted by the lifting soil.
The love song began its life, not with a fanfare or a crash of cymbals, but instead with a knock at a door.
I start wearing the family dog, a mini-sheltie, a little Lassie, in an unbleached cotton baby sling across the front of my body like a messenger bag, a few weeks shy of fall.
Heat shimmered in waves across the Valley of the Kings as the merciless sun baked the desert sands into clay.
Cindy Thomas was tuned in to her police scanner as she drove through the Friday-morning rush to her job at the San Francisco Chronicle.
In one of the most bizarre cases in recent history, a wild-haired young boy, estimated to be between six and eight years old, was discovered living on his own in the Ramapo Mountain State Forest near the suburb of Westville.
India – although it could just as easily be Thailand, or Cambodia, or Colombia.
Laura rearranged the hydrangeas that adorned the end of each pew.
She had tried to return the book. As soon as she realized it had been left behind, she’d picked it up and rushed after its extraordinary owner.
It had been three days since my friend disappeared and I was starting to think the worst might have happened.
It’s past midnight and the lights along the pier are jumping points of static, reflected in silver glimmers on the sea.
Most of life’s defining moments happen unexpectedly; sometimes they slide past you completely unnoticed until afterwards, if at all.
Something clicked in the house and he froze, looking towards the closed door, his heart racing. Had it been the front door? Had someone come in?
The industrial sliding doors heaved open to a burst of bitter alpine air, a dizzying flurry of snow, and a barrage of hoarse cries
Beware the gifts you accept, or so said your elders. But it’s too late. You ask for the package: a present that comes with a curse. Demon Lover has granted you a pair of red shoes.
It doesn’t start with a kiss. It starts with the touch of bare knuckles under a molehill of cornflakes.
Travel east by train from Moscow and the clip of iron on track beats out the rhythm of your approach towards the Ural Mountains.
All souls are special. Son or daughter, Grimm or not, Life touches her spirit to every one of her creations.
Two thirty a.m., and no signal yet. The American was waiting in his cramped little room; waiting for a pulse that would tell him London was calling.
Eno trudged up the road. Big fancy property like this, maybe a chance to hit a lick.
My mother likes to hum. She stands at the stove, stirring this, tasting that, and humming, humming, humming.