Staci Troilo
Bio
Staci's love for writing is only surpassed by her love for family and friends, and that relationship-centric focus is featured in her work, regardless of the genre she's currently immersed in. https://stacitroilo.com
Stories (29/0)
- Top Story - June 2022
Why'd It Take Me So Long To See?Top Story - June 2022
We all change as we get older. Yet we all have core values and personality traits that define us from early in life. My dad is a good man. One of the best I ever met. And he’s always been that way. That hasn’t changed, and it never will.
By Staci Troilo2 years ago in Families
What I Never Wanted to Say
Dear Mom, I have a confession to make. Lately I’ve been thinking back on my childhood—from my earliest memory through the day I moved out. It shocked me to realize we disagreed about so many things. Seems like we were at odds a lot more than we were in agreement. I’m not saying you didn’t love me or weren’t there when and how I needed you. Only that there were things I couldn’t say to you because we didn’t have that sitcom mother/daughter relationship I always coveted.
By Staci Troilo2 years ago in Confessions
You Have Reached Your Destination
Ninety-nine percent of the time, Glenn Warren loved being a bounty hunter. The challenge of finding someone’s trail, the thrill of capture, and the righteous pride of justice being served combined into a heady rush that couldn’t be beat.
By Staci Troilo3 years ago in Fiction
Dad's Annual Light War
Stephanie stomped the snow from her feet before entering her parents’ house. In the mudroom, she hung her coat, then exchanged boots for the slippers she’d carried in her purse. When she walked into the kitchen, her mother squealed on her way to smother her in a cinnamon-scented hug. “I’m so glad you’re here! We’re almost ready to start. Want a cookie? I made your favorite.”
By Staci Troilo3 years ago in Fiction
A Gift to Remember
Vance Loughton rolled over to pull his wife into his arms only to find her side of the bed empty, the sheets cool. It was their thirtieth anniversary, and he’d hoped to start the day off right. Well, it was their thirtieth anniversary in some of the time zones. To twist a phrase, it’s twelve o’clock somewhere. Without his wife or his assistant—or a clock—he had no idea where he was or what time it was or even what day it was. But he knew, somewhere, today was his anniversary. Would have been nice to start by joining the mile high club. Cordelia had refused every other time he’d asked, but today was special. She probably snuck out early to avoid the question.
By Staci Troilo3 years ago in Fiction