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A runaway trolley is racing downhill. If I hurry to the switch, I can divert the trolley to another track, that is, if I understand switches. Sunlight crinkles on the storefront windows, Read the rest of this entry »

We can’t just weep on paper and call it Book of Tears. We can’t just stab the book and call it Rage, but certain stories are more physical fact than art. Read the rest of this entry »

So enormous was the empire that a great wall was built to contain the indifferent citizens more enamored of regular meals than loyal to the emperor, Read the rest of this entry »

My coffee cup is a moment of stillness so unlike the headlong hurtling present. Painted Japanese characters dangle from its rim like icicles from a timeline. I don’t know what they mean. Read the rest of this entry »

In slanting sunlight, we find ourselves amidst porch furniture, in the pregnant hour of a marriage as familiar as the air, thoughtless, lightly rocking the globe from its orbit with every shift of our chairs. Read the rest of this entry »

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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

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