Mack D. Ames
Bio
Educator & writer in Maine, USA. Real name Bill MacD, partly. Mid50s. Dry humor. Emotional. Cynical. Sinful. Forgiven. Thankful. One wife, two teen sons, one male dog. Baritone. BoSox fan. LOVE baseball, Agatha Christie, history, & Family.
Stories (38/0)
Fizzled
If Vocal taught me anything in my first year of membership, it was that other members hold a higher appreciation for the words fumbling from my keyboard than do the judges at Vocal. Had I written this four months ago, it would have been a bitter admission; today I state facts with a wry chuckle and a heavy dose of humility. My aspirations for 2024 are not to burn out or give up on writing.
By Mack D. Ames4 months ago in Writers
Shout out to Kendall Defoe
My mother read to me after lunch almost daily when I was four and five years old. She probably did so when I was younger than that, but I don't recall it. We'd sit on the couch in the dining room--a room large enough to hold a table that seated the eight of us in my family, plus two easy chairs and a sofa. We weren't wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, but we lived in an 1820-built farmhouse in Maine, and two of the rooms still had tin ceilings that fascinated me.
By Mack D. Ames8 months ago in Chapters
Lost My Way in the Darkness
In the early days of American history, the tenets of Christianity were either embraced or generally tolerated as positive guidelines for establishing societal norms and legal expectations. Many of the Founding Fathers were not Christians per se but held to Deist views that acknowledged the value of Biblical mores in the public square. Simultaneously, they recognized the danger of selecting winners and losers in the world of religion, which is how Thomas Jefferson's privately-held belief of "the separation of church and state" came into existence as the mantra of the masses that sought to keep God out of everything. This separation resulted in a complete loss of moral compass for the United States by the early twenty-first century, as the culture of death replaced the culture of life that had previously prevailed.
By Mack D. Ames8 months ago in Fiction
Lost My Way in the Darkness
In 2019, my interest in reading was rekindled after a lengthy hiatus, but I discovered that my thirst for short stories was greater than for full-length books. As a result, I searched online for free websites to use to sate my appetite. I discovered several apps and sites that provided ample results, which I consumed with relish.
By Mack D. Ames8 months ago in BookClub
P.S. I Loved You
P.S., I loved you. Mum passed away from cancer when I was 17. Dad was 53. For the next five years or so, Dad and I learned to rely on one another and relate to each other as we never had before. The relationship as father and son that I'd always wanted with him became reality for the first time, and I loved it. In many ways, he became my closest friend. However, I was too immature to comprehend the loneliness growing in his heart. After all, I was 1,200 miles away at college most of the time. He was still very much a man ready for love, and just as I prepared to graduate from my undergrad program and move home, he was preparing to remarry. In my shortsightedness and his dislike of confrontation, neither of us acknowledged the obvious: His new wife wouldn't want me living there. It got ugly quickly, and my close relationship with Dad soured, almost to the point of utter dissolution.
By Mack D. Ames11 months ago in Men
Orange You Glad?
"Blaze orange, really?" Everyone expresses surprise at my choice of paint. I was ten then, and autumn's palette tantalized my vision. "Pick one" was my parents' requirement; it could not be a collage. Heatless, too, I reasoned this hue would warm my body and soul in winter.
By Mack D. Amesabout a year ago in Poets
The Wheelbarrow
"Dad worked harder than I gave him credit for." How many times have you heard someone say that about a father that has passed on? You bet. It’s a common refrain, along with, “I have no idea how he managed to juggle all those responsibilities.” Or something like that. Or maybe it’s about a mom. In my case, I knew how hard Mum worked, and I honored her for it all the time. But Dad and I were like oil and water until Mum died, and I closed my mind and heart to his work ethic.
By Mack D. Amesabout a year ago in Families