The Romance Writers

Every spring at the Hilltop House there was a certain group that would book the entire hotel. All the ladies in Harpers Ferry loved this group, all the men would collectively groan and roll their eyes. It was the Washington D.C. Area Romance Writers Association. Now...before I go any further let me say this... Anyone... Continue Reading →

The long way home

I was headed home for spring break in 1994. Pittsburgh faded in the midnight glow of the tail lights as I drove down the PA turnpike. It would be good to leave the concrete and glass canyons of "the Burgh" for the green and wooded valleys of my native West Virginia. And I knew it... Continue Reading →

The Lonely Tale of Screaming Jenny

Jenny sat huddled next to the tiny coal stove that tried vainly to warm her shack. She pulled her threadbare shawl tighter around her shoulders and blew into her cupped hands. The chill of a dying winter clung to the dirty canvas and boards that made up the tiny shack she called home. Jenny's husband... Continue Reading →

The Shortest Ghost Story

"Come on, Grand Pa, tell us a ghost story PLEASE!" The kids gathered around the old man's feet begged. The fire-place crackled and popped as wood jumped into flame casting long shadows over the walls. "Alright, alright...but just one. and it has to be a short one." He smiled and eased his old bones into... Continue Reading →

An unexpected Reservation

Harper's Ferry is a quiet, quiet little town. It always has been. Not much of great import happens here. The days spin by lazily with a sense of southern genteelness (if that is indeed a word) that puts you at ease. It's the kind of town that makes you want to sit on your front... Continue Reading →

The late August Grass (a poem)

Trees were here The low scrubs too bamboo and kudzu filled the ground where never grass was found the ages claimed the years obscured the land hidden in the dirty woods the birds still fly and the crows still roost in the trees that grew too tall around us but the dirt and discarded trash... Continue Reading →

the late August grass

I've spent so many years at the hilltop house hotel that the days bleed together like a watercolor painting left in the rain. I've seen people come and go, faces pass in a blur. I have made so many friends and acquaintances that I can't recall all of their names. Of course I've made friendships¬†... Continue Reading →

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