The Roses of Prose

The Worst Christmas Part 3 Jim squeezed Mariana’s hand, but he looked at Nate. “I guess you’d better tell us.” “I called G...

The Worst Christmas Part 2 “Come inside anyway.” With that, the big man—who made six-two Jim look small—tramped through th...

The Worst Christmas Part 1 She peered through the snow-spattered windshield at the neon sign and hoped like hell there was room ...

This time of year, you’ll see many posts on being thankful. I hope you’ll indulge me with one more. I am so blessed with my family. Hu...

Fall has finally broken Summer’s stranglehold on west Michigan. Just like the Winter That Never Ended. We don’t have regularly spaced ...

In 2004, I quit writing. As I’ve mentioned before, Life intruded. A combo of events led to stress, more stress, and though I tried to wr...

How did it get to be the 16th of July already? I thought I had days before my post was due. Must be a case of NewRelease Amnesia. I spent la...