Writers of fiction, poetry, lyrics, screenplays and life stories come from diverse backgrounds. For the past three years a small group has met weekly to write together, offering criticism and support to whoever stopped by. Over 200 different people have dropped by; we learned something from each one of them. Most of the people who found us had already written for years- some even published.

If this is something that interests you, join us! We meet every Wednesday, from 9 AM - 10:30 at the Jesus Center on Park Avenue.

Friday, July 11, 2014

I'm Sorry Senor Cervantes

A story about an animal lover obsessed with a sweet ass would have to be titled Donkey Hotty

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

This Week's Reading

“Good morning! I’m Jumond—I’m looking for Hermione Chockswindae and I understand I’ll find her at Keeper’s Cottage?”

The young woman looked up at the stranger with eyes that wanted to see more. She sat on a log bench outside the Hospice Tower Gate, six children enjoyed nap-time on the lawn at her feet and she kept her voice low: “Yeah. Keeper’s Cottage is just after the next fork, cross this bridge, cross back at the next one and another bridge—all left. It’s the first one you come to after that. Red cabin with a rainbow picket fence and a porch all around. Naomi usually takes tea at this time, bet you find them on the swing.”
“Thank you.”
“Sure you got it?”
“Two bridges left and a red cabin.”
“Uh-huh… You’re on Hermione’s crew?”
“That’s correct.”
“She’s been real nice… Are you married or… ?”
Jumond laughed: “Yes I am.”
She sighed: “We never see fresh faces… ”
“I’m sorry to be a disappointment.”
A brave smile appeared: “Well… It’s not like I’m lonely.”
“Then you should be happy. Tell me your name?”
“Caroline DuChine.”
“Perfectly lovely. Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice visit.” Caroline watched his jaunty step until he went around the fence, smiled wistfully at strong legs, solid bottom and rocking hips, long fingers and arms, smooth shoulders: she knew the dreams for this night already and it was a long time to wait…

Monday, June 30, 2014

The Tides of Progress

If Napoleon had lived a few decades later his exile home might even have been equipped with a Waterloo instead of a pit toilet.

Friday, June 27, 2014

Birth of a Nation

   Bobol stopped when he reached the trail around the pond. He’d run downhill the entire way, stuck to a bank above a ravine, detoured only for hazards.
   Evening dawned, dinner hour and he smelled cooking—midway between Branch House and Hall, he was uncertain of which kitchen. Bobol seldom skipped meals, tonight he had no appetite, the idea of company was repellant—except an urge to be with Roxie…
   Still the drug, he told himself—the woman is a psychotic monster.
   The need ravaged him, he had an erection, desperately wanted to please it… Roxie’s pixie eyes filled his mind.
   She was probably with Leon and Chattagong…
   Suddenly, he wanted to kill.
   ‘No!’ he told himself.
   He reeked, pheromonal sweat covered every pore.
   Without removing shoes or jacket, Bobol ran into the water and threw himself under. Fed by icy springs, the pond shocked his system, he let out a yell—it echoed.
   He wanted to drown but was too practiced a swimmer—he didn’t know how.
   Then three gunshots cracked across the gloaming.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

School Games Girlfriend Posse

Sitting in a row, awaiting Homer: Kaila, Patricia, Arrolon, Naomi. Upon the bench outside the Tower Gate Bridge. Below them the creek ran into a small dammed pond full of squealing children. Four adult monitors in shorts and hats stood knee deep.
Naomi: “I’ve lost my two best teachers… I’m recruiting.”
Patricia: “Who are the prospects?” Arrolon smiled knowingly.
“You—all three.”
Arrolon: “Of course… ”
Kaila: “I had teaching in mind when I joined Mel’s class but I became the replacement medic… ”
Naomi: “Mel started out with first aid training... One of these days older kids will be sneaking away from supervision, we want them prepared for when they wander into trouble—it’s inevitable.”

Monday, June 16, 2014


    I recently went out with Sacramento River Partners and picked up trash alongside Chico River Road. It wasn't as nasty as you might imagine, I learned that at least one area couple practiced safe sex at least once.
   One element of the debris was worthy of notice and comment:
   America's favorite beverage manufacturer , Anhauser/Busch puts their flagship product, Budweiser, into Fourth-of-July themed red, white and blue cans. Thirsty patriotic Americans suck these things down like cheap lies, then they throw Old Glory out the window of their vehicle (Whadyoubet it's a truck), no doubt some of these guys will set cans up on a log and use them for target practice.
   Makes me proud of my fellow Americans.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Still Life with Geology and Voodoo

It was a small still, it would fit upon a stovetop in any household kitchen. Peter had used it, briefly, in the earliest days of Homestead, but it wasn’t convenient to his Townie life in those times when Jody/Bokassa’s industrial sized still was handy. Years later Leon discovered it underneath a mat of creeping vines and he hauled it to a more private location.
The kettle sat in a tripod base, everything was of an alloy that conducted heat three times more efficiently than copper. Running batches twice through produced clear liquor, ninety percent ethanol.
Chattagong took his diluted halfway with the sweetroot syrup used for tea.
Derek, red hair and eyes, huge flaring ears, wide rosy cheeks and a florid blob nose, sipped it raw, washed it down with cold spring water from a flask.
One of those mountain places, easy to reach if you know the way, impossible to find if you don’t. A crazy spot for drunks, a ledge on a canyon wall, sudden death cliffs on three sides. But a fallen tree made a parapet, a windscreen and a bench, a niche amid the boulders sheltered the still, the space between was large and flat enough a dozen people could dance beneath the stars.
The final quarter-mile approach was over bare rock terrain and never a footprint revealed the way.
Leon showed the path to Bobol.