“Sometimes the hardest thing to find isn’t the answer—it’s the courage to ask the question.”
After five decades as a working journalist, I’ve turned to the immediacy of short fiction and the introspection of poetry to address those important things today’s truth dismisses. In Finding Meaning, Making Sense, I’ve abandoned society’s current polarization mindset and present the reader with different perspectives that are both enlightening and challenging. The 27 poems and 25 short stories included in this anthology provide insight and reflection on relationships, aging, contemporary issues and the zeitgeist of our times presented in variety of literary styles. Now available in e-book and paperback at https://www/amazon.com/-/e/B003DS6LEU https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003DS6LEU
Rod Raglin is a journalist, photographer and keen environmentalist living on the west coast of Canada. He’s the author of fourteen self-published novels, two collection sof short stories/poems and two plays. To read excerpts of his work visit his Amazon author page at https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003DS6LEU His short fiction and poetry frequently appear in online publications. For links to short stories and poems accepted and published individually or in an anthology most of which are free to read, visit https://revuecommunitynews.com/rod-raglin-author He blogs about ‘Writing – the experience’ at http://rodraglin.wordpress.com/ Follow him on Twitter at: https://twitter.com/rodraglin and on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100013287676486
Does a dysfunctional childhood, mean a dysfunctional life? Can those survival skills learned as a kid be used to advantage later?
Rewarding, devastating, always complicated, stories and poems about relationships – the crux of life. including: THE PARTY YOU WISH TO REACH.
Pre-order your copy of Finding Meaning, Making Sense, An Anthology of Short Stories and Poems, 2022 – 2025, now at https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003DS6LEU
Book Excerpt
Finding Meaning, Making Sense - An Anthology of Short Stories & Poetry - 2022-2025
When I was seven, the old man had come home drunk, not real drunk, just enough to be mean. Mom had become a born again and was at Bible study and we sat at the kitchen table finishing the meal she’d left for us.
“Why don’t you wash the dishes for your mom, Nancy?” he said.
He didn’t give a shit about all the work his wife did, he was annoyed she wasn’t there and wanted to harangue someone.
“Mom said I didn’t have to.”
“Then do them for me.”
“I wouldn’t do anything for you, you asshole.”
If he’d been drunker, she would have gotten away, but he was out of his chair and had her by the hair before she could get out of the kitchen. He’d punched her twice in the face before I could get the butcher knife from the drawer.
“Let her go or I’ll stab you!”
The punching stopped. They both stared at me. I moved between the two of them holding the butcher knife in front of me. Nancy backed toward the door. The old man shook his head and slouched into the chair.
Nancy escaped to the neighbour’s and I put the knife back in the drawer and went and watched television. When the beer ran out, the old man left, probably to go down to the bootleggers. There were enough similar incidents growing up that it was amazing we both didn’t suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. As it was, I knew I had classic symptoms of an adult child of an alcoholic including “difficulty developing healthy, trusting interpersonal relationships”. Did Nancy suffer as well? Was that why she felt alone and was reaching out?
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