A New Chapter - Free Short Story Download + What's Ahead
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I started this Substack on a whim. I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. I meandered initially and then, more recently, allowed it to collect dust in a corner. But I’m ready to re-dedicate time to it and provide some structure.
Who is this for?
Readers. Especially readers who love mysteries and thrillers and crime/noir. I have an MFA in Creative Writing, so the safe bet is to write for other authors. I don’t want to make the safe bet. I want to write for readers.
And if you’re an author, hopefully you’re a reader too.
What to Expect Here
I write crime and noir fiction set against the stark, unforgiving backdrop of the Sonoran Desert. My debut collection of short fiction is exactly that. It’s brutal and unforgiving but beautiful and twisted. If you like thrillers and crime/noir fiction, this place is for you.
Twice a week, you’ll get:
Behind-the-Scenes & Craft Dispatches: Every Tuesday, get notes from the writing desk, research deep-dives, and book recommendations.
Original Short Stories & Serialized Fiction: Every Friday, get, atmospheric tales delivered straight to your inbox.
Grand Re-Opening Bonus
It’s not a Friday, so I shouldn’t be sharing any of my fiction, but I’ve changed things around in a way that every new subscriber gets one of my previously unpublished short stories delivered to them. And I want to tell you about that story.
A pawn shop burglary turns deadly when a stolen item ends up in the wrong hands.
Here’s a look inside The Fence:
“You cut that with a splash of water,” Mama said. “Nothing else.”
The whiskey sloshed in Mama’s good glass, the one we’d got in the four-pack set from Walmart two years back after we’d hit the scratcher ticket good. She’d always said it was both of us that made that scratcher come back $50 greener. Said that scratcher was as much mine as hers, but all we had left from that extra $50 was the one glass. Not sure what happened to two of them, but I know one shattered against the drywall two inches to the left of my Vince Carter poster and one inch to the right of my dad’s head.
I flipped the handle on the tap, let the water splash across the caramel layer floating in the glass. I’d taken to dropping another splash of 7-Up in Mama’s glass. Filled it up the amount she’d expect, but cut it enough that she might make it another half hour or an hour before passing out.
“Smooth like a Slip ‘N Slide,” I said, handing her the glass. Her eyes were already halfway gone, but she laughed.
“When was the last time you and Chris rode that thing down the driveway?”
“Probably eight years ago now.”
“You boys should do that again sometime.”
“Yeah, we should, Mama.” I’d never told her how we got that Slip ‘N Slide in the first place, how the old KMart that’s now a lawn and garden outlet might have had discounts on blue light specials, but for me they had five-finger discounts. How after Chris and I were done sliding that one summer, I sold it to a kid from school for five bucks.
I left her to her glass, the couch cushions she’d been sitting on swallowing her whole, and I grabbed my phone off the kitchen counter on my way to my bedroom.
“You hear anything yet?” I said into the phone. Wyatt had called earlier in the afternoon and told me his cousin had heard something about some folks looking for us.
“My cousin didn’t know how many were looking or who, but I haven’t heard anything myself.”
I didn’t say anything for a minute while thinking.
“My cousin could be full of shit,” Wyatt said.
Wyatt’s cousin wasn’t usually full of shit. He might be pumped full of enough meth to knock most men out on some days, but even then, he didn’t lie. Especially not about stuff like this.
To read the rest, download the short story by subscribing (it’ll be sent to your email). If you’re already subscribed, I have very cleverly placed the download link below the subscriber only section below.
Welcome to the Desert Dispatch! Let’s read some dark crime fiction together.