Posts by Lee Martin
Whatever Happened to Fast Starts?
I read a lot of student-written short stories, and these days I’m left to wonder whether opening amid significant action, and with just a touch of mystery, has fallen out of favor. “I was in bed when I heard the gate.” So begins Raymond Carver’s story, “I Could See the Smallest Things.” Tobias Wolff’s “Next…
Read MoreWhat to Write When You’re Not Writing
Intrigued by the title of this post? So am I because I have no idea what it means. It came to me as I was thinking about what to write for my weekly blog. This post comes as a very busy semester is winding down for me, and still I have tasks to complete such…
Read MoreA Beautiful Day
Cathy and I had a wonderful day—a little exercise, a good breakfast, a short road trip, a little shopping. Not a thing went haywire. A little laughter, a little conversation, a little flirting, a little of this, and a little of that. Nothing memorable outside the blessing of our time together. I mention this because…
Read MoreMirror Characters
In 1964, when I was eight, a high school basketball team from Southern Illinois made it to the championship game of the state tournament. This happened at a time when all the schools in the state, no matter their size, competed for the crown. For tiny Cobden, population 918, to make it all the way…
Read MoreBookstores, a New Novel, and the Heartland
My first experience as a book buyer came in grade school when I eagerly attended my school’s Scholastic Book Fair where I spent my allowance on paperbacks. In those days, I was interested in sports novels, especially ones that featured underdogs overcoming great odds. Looking back now, I imagine my connection to those underdog stories…
Read MoreThe Last Time
Cathy and I took advantage of the good weather today to do our outdoor winterization chores. We carried patio chairs to the basement, brought in the umbrella, covered the patio table, and cleaned out flowerpots. It always makes Cathy sad to see an empty patio, knowing as she does, it signals winter is almost here,…
Read MoreElection Day
I’m five years old, and I’m sitting in the back seat of my father’s Ford sedan, which is a dull brown and dust-covered from driving up and down our township’s gravel roads. We’re parked alongside one of those roads near a country church, its clapboards painted white. Next to the churchyard, there’s a wire fence…
Read MoreTrick or Treat: Hokey Smoke!
When I was eight years old, my parents and I lived on the second floor of a duplex just off Cicero Avenue in Oak Forest, Illinois. We’d moved there at the end of August in 1963 because my mother had accepted a teaching position in Arbor Part District 145. She taught third grade at the…
Read MoreEverything Felt Different
Here we are in the fall of the year, a time that always takes me back to Sunday afternoons when my father, at ease on his day of rest, suggested we go for a ride in the country. My mother in the front seat and I in the back, he pointed his Delmont 88 down…
Read MoreWhat’s in a Name?: Plenty
Holly Golightly, Holden Caulfield, Jay Gatsby. These are just a few memorable names from American novels. I don’t mean to say the names alone make the novels remarkable, but I would like to suggest names matter when it comes to our characters. A name immediately hints at a particular kind of person. Holden Caulfield? A…
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