fiction
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I’m a basic man, a conservationalist in my accepted wisdoms, who practices the art of minimalism. I am also a salt-of-the-earth Italian who believes in attacking matters one at a time and correctly. Some call it OCD; I call it focus. If I’m doing something, rest assured, it is not a frivolous whim but a…
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And so another February 14th is among us. As history illustrates, February 14th, in the year 1929, did not go so swimmingly for old Bugsy Moran. Never let it be said that Al Capone was not a man without a sense of irony. However, the Saint Valentine’s Day massacre, which took place in Lincoln Park,…
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Recently, my publisher reached out and alerted me to a blog contest they thought I should enter. The theme was anything Christmas-related, be it holiday traditions or an original story. I chose to write an original story. It’s short, somewhat poignant, but ends well. I hope you enjoy it. The Roadside Oasis by Michael DeStefano…
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For years, I wanted to write a short story in the vein of Robert Lawson’s Rabbit Hill, but with a Fielding theme and a Dickensian vibe. It was one of those projects I thought would remain a wish—an ambition to stimulate my mind on long car trips and sleepless nights, but would never come to…
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Often, inspiration can hide in plain sight. Our minds take in thousands of images per day, and our ears pick up clusters of words, whole thoughts, and fragments. Amid such a mishmash, it’s difficult to determine our true influences: that which stands at the forefront of our minds or what lurks in the depths of…
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It was upon a summer’s breeze that the echoes from a forest beckoned a young lass. Often, from the confines of her mother’s garden or with her elbows resting on her bedroom windowsill, she had wondered about the wood just yonder did our golden-haired youth but never had she ventured into its denseness. Today,…
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The following is the first chapter of a novel I hope to complete before 2027. Because it can stand alone, I thought why not post it. A BALLAD FOR WINTER AND SPRING As a passenger train chugs its way northbound from Memphis into the night, a girl, perhaps too young to travel alone, sits…
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This past year, I have developed what I call, my old man sleep pattern. Doubtless, I have accumulated my share of birthdays, but not enough for the “dreaded” old man pattern. Nevertheless, wherever I happen to be come 10:00p.m., be it in front of the television watching a ballgame, curled up on the sofa reading…
Michael's Corner 