Curations from the Human Jungle
[Meanwhile, back in Boston ... SB SM] July The doors slide open to the security area of Delta Air Lines, and Quinn appears. Briefly serious, her face breaks into a broad smile when she spots Burton waiting alongside a handful of random greeters. She makes a beeline for him, letting go of her carry-on to... Continue Reading →
[Like a bad penny, Willie Boye, in some manifestation, keeps showing up in my stories. Who is this guy? Don't forget, a penny saved is a penny earned. SB SM] June Willie Boye travels light. He carries his guitar (no case), his bedroll, and a small backpack mostly for guitar paraphernalia. He is always well-groomed... Continue Reading →
June The solstice sun hovers above the ridgeline, bathing the backyard at The ’Stead in a honeyed light. A breeze rolls down off the hills, carrying the scent of pine. Fully outfitted for the summer social season, the patio area hums with anticipation. There is the main picnic table that comfortably seats eight, a circular... Continue Reading →
[The buds swell during April. The birds return and call forth the bees. The clarions announce the arrival. And then, one day, usually the first week in May ...Kaboom. SB SM] May The sun is bright, but the wind is gusty. White clouds are streaming past. "The soup's good," says Henry. He and Grace, wearing... Continue Reading →
[As you, hopefully, soldier on with "Still Time" I thought it would be a good time to compare myself as an author with John Steinbeck. Here's a trailer from the Hollywood version of his epic novel. SB SM] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqVoIQ5UsT8 https://jillianhess.substack.com/p/how-john-steinbeck-actually-wrote “A good writer always works at the impossible.” Jillian Hess Oct 05, 2026 In 1951,... Continue Reading →
[If you ever find yourself in Brattleboro, Vermont with nothing to do, I recommend a visit to the Estey Organ Company Museum on Birge Street. You will learn a lot and see even more. SB SM] 2018 Ryan Keogh, 20, starched and pressed in his blue uniform, crosses the creaky porch and knocks on the... Continue Reading →
[After what seems like a long digression, we are back in Vermont, coping with the slow development of Spring. SB SM] April "Whatchu doin', Henry?" Emmanuel "Manny" Mannucci has parked in the driveway of The 'Stead and walked back to the garden, a professional realtor with a perpetual eye on The 'Stead, the property owned... Continue Reading →
A Rocket in the Pocket The air in the office on the third Tuesday is charged with a different kind of electricity. Quinn sits across from Burton, her posture as rigid as a flagstaff, but her eyes are restless. They have spent the last hour dissecting regional demographic shifts, yet her focus keeps drifting toward... Continue Reading →
[Where did these characters come from, and how did they end up in this story? Good questions, and I do not have good answers. All I know is, here they are. SB SM] August, 2025 “Bumpa t'bumpa," Burton Trottier says aloud. Then again, "Bumpa t'bumpa." And again, "Bumpa t'bumpa." He pulls up on the window... Continue Reading →
[Finally, unmistakable signs of spring, but with constant reminders that April is, indeed, the "cruelist month." SB SM] April The silver-gray Mercedes hums north on I-93, the engine’s rhythm a steady heartbeat beneath the surface of Burton’s mounting anxiety. Beside him, Quinn sits in a stillness that is entirely uncharacteristic. Usually, her fingers are a... Continue Reading →