Categories
Fiction

Stay Cozy

Photo by fran hogan on Unsplash

Holding her breath, she waited for her husband of seven years to get out of the way. He stood in front of the Keurig, fussing over which noon flavor was best. She just wanted to put her lunch salad together. Time was short and now he was a road block.

Her video conference call was in forty-two minutes, a fact lost on her husband of seven years. Blechhhhh. The Keurig spewed French Roast into his glass mug, upon which were etched the words “Stay Cozy.” 

He drank from the cup every day but refused to wash it, which made no sense to her. Now there was a brownish coffee glaze forming at the bottom of the mug. When asked about the residue, he’d say “It adds to the flavor.”

She looked at the green LED clock on the microwave oven above the stove. Thirty-eight minutes until her meeting. Her husband shuffled off from his Keurig corner, then turned to smile at her, apologizing with his eyes. She forced a smile and pictured how the next seven years would go.

Categories
Fiction

Climate Change

Photo by Cassie Matias on Unsplash

They sat in the canteen of McMurdo Research Station, neither of them daring to make eye contact. No one had spoken for several minutes, the air between them empty and lifeless.

He studied their reflection in the stainless steel lunch tray in front of him. It was over, he could sense it. The passion that once consumed them had now run cold, unlike the Antarctic ice caps slowly melting around them. 

“We can’t be together anymore,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” she said.

“It’s Craig, isn’t it? You’re sleeping with Mr. Blonde Wonderboy, right? I should’ve known transferring to this godforsaken place was a bad idea,“ he said.

“I was honest with you,” she said.

“How long until I can transfer off this iceberg?” he said. 

She looked at him. He knew the protocols. “Three months. Sleep in your own bunk.”

He stood up to bus his tray. His other prospects were grim.

Categories
Fiction

You Spin Me Right Round

Lincoln and Pico is my intersection, but the jackass across the way doesn’t know that yet. You think he understood what he was getting into when he took that corner? He’s messing with the 2019 World Sign Spinning champion and before the end of day, he will know my name.

Categories
Fiction

We’ll Meet Again

Photo by kate.sade on Unsplash

Frank Furtson<frankofurtson@gmail.com>

to everyone

Fellow Bonkers,

What a fan-fucking-tastic journey we’ve had together! As some of you know by now, today is my last day at Bonk Digital. If you haven’t heard, I’m pursuing my dream and opening a craft hemp brewery. It’s been a dream of mine for some time, and I hope to see all of you at the opening in a few months!

Categories
Essay

The Shape of Stories

Photo by Danny on Unsplash

Writing is tough, but what happens when it’s not? Say you’re working on the first draft of a story. You’re humming along and things are going great. Then you notice you’ve written 5,000 words and you’re nowhere near the end of it. How do you solve this problem?

Categories
Fiction

Master of Disguise

You’re up next in line at FYE when an older gentleman cuts in front of you. Where did he come from? He wasn’t there a second ago. 

He’s balding, with oval shaped glasses. What little hair is left flows out from his scalp in curly, gray clumps. His red collared shirt and suspenders look familiar to you, but it’s tough to place him. 

Categories
Essay

RIP, Professor

Photo by Getty Images
He’s gone

Last week, we lost Neil Peart, one of the best (if not the best) drummers in the world and the primary lyricist for the Toronto-based prog rock trio Rush. It still boggles the mind that he’s no longer with us. Both a poet and a polymath, Peart was his own man and a tremendous inspiration to many. Haven’t you ever air drummed along with a Rush song?

Categories
Essay Movies

You Say Tomay-to, I Say Tomah-to

Photo by Peter Lewicki on Unsplash

Is it a movie or a film?

I’ve been called a film snob so many times throughout my life, I’ve lost count. I used to tease people about their favorite movies: “How can you like Top Gun? My cinematic tastes are discerning, for sure. I don’t like everything I see. But who does? 

Categories
Essay

New Year, New Message

Photo by Álvaro Serrano on Unsplash

Here we are at the dawn of a new decade. Troubling times. I try not to read the news too much these days. Instead, what I choose to do is make things. 

They’re just thoughts, ideas and stories, but hopefully they can help you notice things you’d never give a second look. Or help you recall a feeling you had before and forgot. At least that’s my goal. We’ll see how it goes.

Watch this space for consistent things from me. Scribblings. Tales. Rants. All on a regular basis. This is a promise. I’m counting on you to keep me honest. 

May the New Year bring all of us a much needed dose of compassion, well-being and humanity. And I hope you’ll choose to make things too. 

Categories
Essay

Storytellers Anonymous

Photo by Papaioannou Kostas on Unsplash

I’d been to industry trade shows before. Hotel ballrooms filled with crowds of people. The kind who steal a glance at your badge, wondering if you’re someone worth talking to. After realizing you’re just a guppy they move on, looking for the next big fish.