DiaBLOGue

A Tribute for Service Well Rendered

The Bishop in Neal Chandler’s story “The Call” counsels a young man: “It’s not easy to be a real writer. . . .” How true, especially when you want, as did the bishop in Neal’s…

Letters to the Editor

Douglas F. Tobler, Writing Something That Matters
Jerry and Dixie Partridge, Good Wishes to the New Staff
Robert Rees, In Praise of Editorial Teams

About the Artist

Maryann Webster was born in San Francisco and grew up in north ern California. She received an MFA and a Research Fellowship award from the University of Utah where she now teaches. Recent exhibitions of…

Christmas Conflict: 2001

How were we to know 
            through the thick, smoking days, 
            the awful rubble of terror 

U.S. Navy Photo: “Dawn Landing on Wake Island”

I knew it was dawn 
With the sun blurring whitely 
Through the gray clouds, 
But I’m glad someone wrote that. 
The light and the words make a bridge 
Across the water to the sand. 

Prologue to Mokasatsu

“You shall not do it,” she said. A mere murmur, those words, deceptively soft, even gentle. Almost subliminal, though distinctly determined to anyone who knew her as he did. She had, in fact, employed the…

MacDonald and the Jungle Monk

“Where can I find Captain Vernon Endicott?” Captain John MacDon aid asked one of a cluster of clerks in the 9th Cavalry’s regimental headquarters.  “Oh, oh,” the clerk said, looking at the rubber-mat floor behind…

What You Don’t Know

A man of many stories, my father left behind only a handful in the end. Primarily this is my fault; my mind long ago funneled such information into a vast reservoir of forgotten knowledge, where…