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Gregory B.
Banks
One
of the things I want to do with my writing is make
people think about their life and their world, and
the things that others are currently going through
which may affect us all one day. After watching my
Grandmother go through the ravages of Alzheimer's
Disease, "Fading Away" was born. It's my
attempt to explore what may go on inside the mind of
a person afflicted with Alzheimer's, and is
dedicated to both sufferers of the disease and their
families, who like me, have to stand by helplessly
as our loved ones slowly fade away...
WheelMan's Place - http://www.wheelmansplace.com/
Pat
Beckerman
A Long
Island, New York, resident, Pat has been writing
since childhood but got "serious" only a
few years ago. Pat claims writing feeds her spirit
and brings her into sync with her life’s purpose.
She writes best when touched deeply, but is learning
to summon her muse at will.
Pat’s
poetry appeared in North Shore Women’s
Newspaper, May, l997; Inscriptionsmagazine.com
(contest winner, first prize, July, 2000); and will
appear in the Winter, 2001 edition of Beginnings
(print magazine published by scbeginnings.com).
"Communion"
was inspired by meetings with two special beings.
Richard
Carr
Formerly
a software analyst, then a college English
instructor, I am now a bar owner and web page
builder. I have an NEA Grant, a Guggenheim
Fellowship, and a Pulitzer Prize on my wish list. In
the real world, I've published about 50 poems,
nowhere famous, several essays and reviews, and one
poetry chapbook.
Steve
Frederick
A
career journalist, I was born in England to a
British mother and Air Force father. I spent a
couple of my early years in Minnesota but grew up on
the Oregon coast. I graduated from the University of
Oregon in 1976. I've lived on the high prairie in
western Nebraska for the past nine years.
These
days I'm a 47-year-old husband, dad, fisherman and
gardener. I compensate for my blissfully ordinary
lifestyle by writing wild, off-beat stories. I
especially enjoy short-short or "flash"
fiction that allows readers to draw from their own
experiences to write parts of the story in their own
minds.
Lago de
Yojoa is the largest lake in Honduras. This story
was put together from scraps of my experiences in
that country.
My
stories have been published in Zoetrope`s All-Story
Extra, Vestal Review and Chicanawriter, and other
examples of my writing can be found on ThemeStream.
My story "A Cold-Ass Christmas Eve" is in the September,
2000 issue of MindKites.
I can be reached at: stevefrederick@author-author.net.
Caitlin
James
Caitlin
James (aka 'M. Bear' at Author, Author!) says she's
learned what she knows of poetry from the stories of
Ray Bradbury, and what she knows of storytelling
from the poems of Shel Silverstein. She lives in
Texas, does occasional work as a freelance
copyeditor, and writes because “hunt-and-peck just
won’t cut it on the guitar.”
M.
Jane Hill
M. Jane
Hill resides in the California Central Valley, where
she writes; ponders about life and the essence of
being; and otherwise simply tries to stay cool.
Jeffrey
N. Johnson
Jeff
was raised in rural Virginia (in the cross hairs of
creeping suburbia), and is a graduate of Virginia
Tech. Eight years ago he became a refugee Architect,
fleeing the profession out of poverty and
frustration. While in search for another creative
outlet he began writing short stories and has
recently published his first fiction in Lines In
The Sand.
Jeff
currently lives in Alexandria, Virginia and has the
bones of two novels competing for his writing time.
He can be reached at jnjarch@starpower.net.
Jean
Nicolazzo
I
came late to writing; for nearly thirty years I was
a painter, earning my MFA at the American University
in Washington, DC, where I taught for several years.
I came back home to New England, where I became
consumed by motherhood and slowly drifted from
painting. The creative impulse returned about a year
ago, a response to turmoil in my life I suppose, and
I started writing. In "Come to Santa Fe" I
was addressing some emotional demons, hoping for an
exorcism. I found it doesn't work that way; in fact,
they love the attention. I live in Providence, Rhode
Island,
with my two children, and continue to write and
paint.
F.
John Sharp
I am, among other things, an author
living on the North Coast of America, near
Cleveland, Ohio. My non-fiction work has appeared
locally and I am proud that The Story Garden
represents the first time my work will appear before
a wider
audience.
"Eddie Bittelman" is just a guy who—like
a lot of us—hasn't found his
way yet. The idea for the story came to me from the
question, "What if a guy became the town hero
then lived off those laurels; what if he never grew
up?" I guess that makes two questions but
that's how the idea grew for me.
I came to writing later in life, having finally
found it to satisfy desires within me to create.
I've had a lot of help and encouragement from people
in
my online workshop, Author, Author!, and I feel
confident that this is just the start of good things
for me. I can be reached at fjohnsharp@author-author.net.
J.D.
Toffler
J.D.
Toffler is 33 years and lives in Perrysburg, Ohio.
He is married and the father of two boys. His work
has previously appeared in Prairie Margins and
The
Midnight Zoo. "This story came from a picture I
saw of James Joyce's death mask. The very act of
creeping in and dumping plaster all over somebody
who just died struck me as very strange. And you
never hear about them anymore. Do they still make
death masks? I've only seen three dead people in my
entire life and you wouldn't want to be making any
death masks of them. Joyce? He looked pretty damn
good, all things considered. At least you get a
chance to see him without the glasses. Beethoven, on
the other hand, looked like hell. Somebody should
have put a stop to that. You see his and you're
thinking, 'ye gods, now that's a death mask.'
He looked like he died from stepping in a bear trap.
Joyce just looks like he might have been sleeping.
In fact, that's probably what it was. I'll bet Nora
did it as a lesson one night after he came home
half-bombed and broke again. Can't you see her
waking him up with that the next morning? See
this? This is where you're heading, Mr. Finnegan's
Wake. Genius, my ass! Geniuses don't piss in the
umbrella stand at three o'clock in the
morning!"
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