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What must it feel like to know you’re being operated on. Hear the happy surgeons chat about vacation homes while they stab and reach inside you. Just a few steps from the diner door, the first blow paralyzed me. I fought my body as it fell, but couldn’t make it move. Read the rest of this entry »

They are prejudiced, the cabbies in town. Because the sun has risen every morning in memory, they expect it to dawn during this shift, too, and dawn again one minute earlier each day until the solstice, then later again each morning like the year before. 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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