by Jocosa Wade | Aug 25, 2021 | Writing Practice
Patrick flinched from the glare in the rearview. “Jesus Christ, lady.” It had to be a woman. Women were constant over-users from high beams to perfume. No sense of moderation. He flipped the mirror to reduce the glare and discovered the true source of his...
by Jocosa Wade | Aug 18, 2021 | Writing Practice
It was a June Cleaver-Donna Reed morning. Breakfast was eaten around the table with my father and mother. My older siblings had already left for school. Pink grapefruit coated with sugar lingers on my mind and tongue. I’d just swapped the grapefruit for a bowl of...
by Jocosa Wade | Aug 11, 2021 | Writing Practice
Fane Harrison lingers outside the door to the studio behind the box office, housed in one of a dozen red longhouses that belong to the Black Hills Playhouse in Custer State Park, South Dakota. She arrived six weeks ago, her undergrad diploma still warm in her...
by Jocosa Wade | Aug 4, 2021 | Writing Practice
Henry Bannon rolls out of bed because he no longer jumps, leaps or bounces. He relieves himself in the bathroom and washes his hands. Ever since Ava died, over twenty years ago, he’s tried to convince himself to skip the lathering and rinsing of the hand soap. But the...
by Jocosa Wade | Jul 28, 2021 | Writing Practice
University students, bundled like pigs-in-a-blanket, pull stocking caps and darned hats over their ears, while women with long hair and unadorned faces maneuver strollers with toddlers and babies and large dogs on leashes. Off in the distance, the early morning sun...
