A Tribute for Service Well Rendered
March 23, 2018The 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…
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…
Douglas F. Tobler, Writing Something That Matters
Jerry and Dixie Partridge, Good Wishes to the New Staff
Robert Rees, In Praise of Editorial Teams
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…
How were we to know
through the thick, smoking days,
the awful rubble of terror
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.
Not long after learning of the cancer that would ultimately take his life, my father faced a difficult course of experimental radiation and chemotherapy. As I drove him to the hospital to take his first…
“I was not a man of war, but one of peace” (259). This epiphany came to Stephen G. Biddulph, an LDS combat Marine in Vietnam, as he described a sobering attack he had participated in…
“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…
“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…
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…