blog
The author amid mining ruins, The
San Pedro River, Arizona
Photo by Melanie Norton
by Howard Petote Post # 16 April 23, 2019
Brooks
Hiking Sedona, the Grand Canyon and the San Pedro River,
including a visit with my cousin in Tucson, our recent vacation in
Arizona was a success. The last time I visited—incredibly, 30 years ago this month—was a much different experience. Hoping to explore countless wild areas of the southwest, I became ill in New Mexico, and finally turned my truck around just west of Casa
Grande, Arizona.
by Howard Petote Post # 15 March 27, 2018
Into the Crucible
"Out of whose womb came this child? She is dirty and wild, and her
pretty eyes don't fool anyone."
Who is Maggie Black? She would now be about fifty years old, though I don't know her current situation because I've not written her past the age of twenty-six. It is difficult to write about her without saying too much—explaining the joke, so to speak—and her personality shines on its own in my novel, The Sins of Maggie Black. As stated in my previous blog on origins, she was . . .
Photo credit: ArtofPhoto/Canstock
Photo
In Scottsbluff, Nebraska
by Howard Petote Post # 14 March 6, 2018
The Mythical Nature of Real Places
Exhausted, I drove alone late one night, heading north on
Connecticut's Interstate 95. I had already driven from western New York to Queens for a job interview, then endured, once I left
the city at rush-hour, the nastiest traffic jam of my life. But that
was behind me as I cruised toward Massachusetts, where I would
spend the night. The passing lights and dashed lines of the high-
way became hypnotic, and my brain shut down.
by Howard Petote Post # 17 February 20, 2023
The Angel of Pleiku, Scene Three
Once on Colerain, Arlene hits the gas. Her speedometer needle
flutters a few seconds, then shoots past forty. It's a straight shot
from here, but the street, bound by snowbanks, remains icy. She's
late because Dan left late—of all mornings his Pontiac wouldn't
start, and she had to jump the battery. Despite the storm, or any
other excuse, she's due for a warning. Trained like dogs, everyone
is expected to make the eight o'clock bell.
E
by Howard Petote Post # 18 April 26, 2023
The Angel of Pleiku and Our Hidden Wounds
"And this, is this from a bump, too?" She touches his lip with her finger, but he doesn't answer—he raises his hand to hers and gently traps it against his cheek. He leans into her palm, his mouth quivering—trying not to cry. "Life is tricky, isn't it, George?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
An abandoned swing set,
southern Illinois. (Upon
returning a few weeks later,
there was no sign of it.)
Home Page
fiction by
fiction by
fiction by