Very good, if dense. Fudge must be consumed more slowly and in smaller quantities than brownies.
It’s funny to me that fiction seems to communicate something so much deeper than non-fiction. Why is that?
I live with several melancholic souls who are mysterious to me, so I appreciate this delightful peek into the melancholic heart. Thank you for it. I’ll take this sentence with me: “Vice, even when not your own, has a way of draining life.”
Swimming in full, long sleeve attire is a vastly underated experience. I inadvertently started a tradition on a parish three day pilgrimage (to Holy Hill in Wisconsin) of swimming in a creek on the last day to cleanse not just body but clothing as well before arrival. It's a remarkably poetic experience (and sometimes ironic depending on how "fishy" the water might smell)!
Oh, the fictional prose was also good ;)... To be fair, my own first substack article was about "rewriting the end" and the need for stories to have genuinely happy endings... I'm still processing how I feel about the tragically sweet ending you gave, which is relatable in other ways... and I had to reread the first paragraph alone about four times to get my bearings before I kept going...
You might have just written the figuratively longest, literally short story I have ever read. Congrats!
Really appreciate this thoughtful comment, thank you Anthony. And I completely agree about swimming in normal attire. It was a handy way to wash both clothes and body when I was living in Wisconsin and had no running water in my log cabin.
A story full of melancholy and romance. Indeed, a kind of Christian liebestod - not Wagner's Tristan and Isolde (thank goodness!)
We were living in Oxford during the boiling heatwave summer of 1976, and I was pushing a buggy with my two small children in it, through the University parks. We were beside the river Cherwell and, putting the brake on the buggy, on impulse I leapt into the water wearing my clothes: a t-shirt, skirt and sandals... Wonderful!
I would like to read another story, were you to write one. I liked this one very much.
Agree!
Thanks for letting me know!
Very good, if dense. Fudge must be consumed more slowly and in smaller quantities than brownies.
It’s funny to me that fiction seems to communicate something so much deeper than non-fiction. Why is that?
I live with several melancholic souls who are mysterious to me, so I appreciate this delightful peek into the melancholic heart. Thank you for it. I’ll take this sentence with me: “Vice, even when not your own, has a way of draining life.”
May God bless you, Mr. Keim!
Thank you Sister! What an insightful way to describe this story—a "peek into the melancholic heart."
Ah! What an ending. Beautiful. More Bard-studded short fiction, please.
Thank you, so glad you liked it!
Just amazing!
Swimming in full, long sleeve attire is a vastly underated experience. I inadvertently started a tradition on a parish three day pilgrimage (to Holy Hill in Wisconsin) of swimming in a creek on the last day to cleanse not just body but clothing as well before arrival. It's a remarkably poetic experience (and sometimes ironic depending on how "fishy" the water might smell)!
Oh, the fictional prose was also good ;)... To be fair, my own first substack article was about "rewriting the end" and the need for stories to have genuinely happy endings... I'm still processing how I feel about the tragically sweet ending you gave, which is relatable in other ways... and I had to reread the first paragraph alone about four times to get my bearings before I kept going...
You might have just written the figuratively longest, literally short story I have ever read. Congrats!
Really appreciate this thoughtful comment, thank you Anthony. And I completely agree about swimming in normal attire. It was a handy way to wash both clothes and body when I was living in Wisconsin and had no running water in my log cabin.
A story full of melancholy and romance. Indeed, a kind of Christian liebestod - not Wagner's Tristan and Isolde (thank goodness!)
We were living in Oxford during the boiling heatwave summer of 1976, and I was pushing a buggy with my two small children in it, through the University parks. We were beside the river Cherwell and, putting the brake on the buggy, on impulse I leapt into the water wearing my clothes: a t-shirt, skirt and sandals... Wonderful!
Sometimes you just need to swim—whether swimming attire is available or not!
Oh, Bob, you are an amazing, gifted writer. What a pleasure to read this. Another glimpse of the brother I am getting to know.