Barbara M Quinn
Bio
I hope you like my article.
Stories (28/0)
Notes on the Justice of Poetry
When I was very young, a child my age named Hassan struck me below the eye with a slingshot straining at a stone. Many years later, that memory came back to me when another man named Hassan asked me why all the Hassans in my novels were demons. When I was in middle school, a fat kid always picked on me at recess. Many years later, when I had to portray a lackluster character, I would depict him sweating like that fat guy, so fat that he could only stand there, sweating constantly on his hands and forehead, just like a big water jar from the refrigerator.
By Barbara M Quinn2 years ago in Fiction
The Night Returner
The young woman stood quietly in front of the window, listening to the movement outside the house as if she was expecting something. She was the only one in the house. It was snowing heavily outside the window, the first snowfall of this winter, and the snow-covered the silent prairie outside the window. The woman looked out through the window obsessively, but she could not see anything, only her own lonely shadow cast on the shiny window glass.
By Barbara M Quinn2 years ago in Fiction