dennis scharnberg

“Intellect is a shiny little box that we stow in the sock drawer.”   By this time Bradley was seated at his desk,  jotting down the words in his most careful script, by candlelight.

Chadwick Graves,  One Damned Thing After Another.

“Sneering revulsion for all things—that is my game,”  said Malcolm.   “And I’m damned good at it.”

Corliss Archer,  Boarding the Crazy Train.

“But Charlie, writing things out by hand is the new drawing.”   Elaine felt she was onto something.   Something important.

Diana Moone,  Living Well.

“A woman’s shoes rested inside a bucket.  A great red pail.  Someday I’d like to own one just like it.  Pure utility, yet pleasing to the eye.  Something to depend on.”  Kenneth’s thoughts rolled on, as jumbled and useless as ever.

Jason Starling, ed.,  Adventures in Narrative Parsimony.

That the stone falls the same way each time is the mystery.

Titus Musgrave,  The Enigma of the Box.

“We say the same things over and over again.  That’s what we do.”  Edward was musing.

Into a world of water.  The porcelain bowl and its peculiar dynamics.  The basin.  The tub.   Eric had awakened, and was on his feet again.

Victoria Salt,  A Compendium of Opening Lines.

“Steadfast.  Celestial.  Room.  Stick.  Smudge.  Dusk.  Damp.  Loathing.”  Aaron was adding to his ongoing list of favorite words.  “Eradicate.  Urinate.  Aftermath.  Thrice.  Entail.  Oaf.  Thrill.  Word.  Cork.  Redeem.”

Jeremy Malking,  The Anechoic Chamber: Stories.

If words really were “unstable,”  we wouldn’t be able to talk about their instability.

Hecuba Gathers,  A Purely Physical World.