Writing

The One That Damned Me

Posted on by DL Shirey

After Dinner Conversation is a unique magazine. Not only do they publish excellent short stories, acceptance is predicated on the premise that what you read is worthy of discussion. As such, the editors then follow up with philosophical or ethical questions for further conversation.

“The One That Damned Me,” first published in July 2020, is about a man wrongly accused of a crime. It is reprinted below without the magazine’s follow-up questions.

The One That Damned Me

by DL Shirey

Sent u email about Jesmyn.
Please read.
S

The text from the Ex was short and sweet, like Susan used to be. The message nearly sobered me up. I was suddenly warmer, caused by the friction of memories rushing back from five years ago. The flip phone in my hand felt twice as hot, so I dropped it in the sand as if scalded. I stared at the message until the screen blanked black. Like my life after Jesmyn.

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Writing

No. 17

Posted on by DL Shirey

This flash fiction piece was originally published on PAPER (shock) in February 2022. No. 17 is about a man’s search for something in an Iowa cornfield. Strangely enough, it was a UK publisher that picked it up.

When I received my contributor’s copy of Hungry Ghost Magazine, I was blown away by the production value. Not only were the stories top notch, but the graphics were astounding.

No. 17

by DL Shirey

“Long way from home,” the old man said. He raised the crossed leg to point a foot at my Oregon plates. Eighty if he was a day, a stereotype in overalls. When I asked about my destination, he waved a whittling knife vaguely northwest, “That-away. Yonder. Three, four miles as the crow flies.”

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Writing

Learning to Draw

Posted on by DL Shirey

My sister is an artist and my father could have been. I never got the gene. This nonfiction piece exemplifies why it is better that I write than draw. Originally published in July 2022 by Potato Soup Journal, which, unfortunately, is no longer published.

Learning to Draw

by DL Shirey

An art teacher once called me retarded. She was criticizing my drawing, but I took the adjective personally.

To be fair, this was in the late 1980s, long before political correctness disallowed that pejorative term for the developmentally disabled. Back then, the word wasn’t necessarily used to describe someone’s abilities, but as criticism for a task poorly done. A half-hearted attempt to make a bed, for instance, could be called retarded if the sheets were lumpy and the blankets hung askew. This condemnation did double-duty, disparaging the bed itself, as well as the person who made it.

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