You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Mystery’ tag.

I like him better when we’re on vacation and I don’t think he’d disagree. I’d never ask, I don’t suppose; we don’t talk like that. I don’t know what we talk about. Read the rest of this entry »

Sons make choices and, like it or not, it’s the mother’s job to support, which is to say I never liked his wife. A charming boy, he’s needed a lot of support. I don’t like thinking of him there, fragile in the heartless city, cocooned in that apartment alone with her, turning into what. Read the rest of this entry »

Men are such boys, particularly husbands; they need daddy’s approval and mommy’s attention as long as they live. Unlucky the boy who outlives them as my husband did. Read the rest of this entry »

In all our years together, she had never seen me without it. Even I wasn’t sure how I’d look once I’d shaved. Hands on the sink, I peered into the foggy mirror considering my face and saw her figure flash past. Read the rest of this entry »

Life is the skirmish our dreams are meant to resolve. Lucid dreamers like Bernard don’t leave it to chance; they’ve trained themselves to take control in sleep. They lie down with a plan they repeat like a mantra. The first time he looks at his watch, Bernard sees numbers; the second time, numbers again. The third time, his watch is a coin on a strap and Bernard knows he’s dreaming and sets to work. Read the rest of this entry »

You’d think by now the house would be empty, but every Saturday she seems to have more to get rid of. When we moved into the neighborhood, she was putting out just one long rack of men’s clothing in the yard near the failing azalea bed, Read the rest of this entry »

In later stages of the experiment, there was little to distinguish the personalities of man and dog, wolf and wolfman, shark and man. Read the rest of this entry »

I used to think the drama was all on this side of the three doors, but as the tale unfolds I begin to appreciate how startled the princess or the tiger might be, when the door swings open, to confront the condemned man standing in the hallway of the apartment building at lunchtime. Read the rest of this entry »

When my child was born healthy, I didn’t ask “why me?” I cherished her. A hundred days I cuddled her, produced the milk, and she woke up alive. Read the rest of this entry »

If ghosts could kill themselves, they would. I have it on good authority. They long to be here or there. Neither body nor yet pure light, they are shadows on the houses they lived in. Read the rest of this entry »

Blog Stats

  • 970,359 Visitors

VSN Logo

I’m On Twitter

EAT FEED

299-WORD NOVELS

Character, conflict, emotional impact. And sentences! Everything you want in a novel, without one extra syllable.

Behind the Pseudonym

The pen name David B Dale honors my parents Beatrice and Dale. David+B+Dale = davidbdale

255 More Novels!

Recent Tweets