Over the past three years, Bob has authored over three dozen short stories or essays. Nearly
two dozen have been published in various literary journals and magazines.
"Love Hurts," Catfish Stew, 2005
"Love Always, Cecil" Catfish Stew, 2005
"Rocker Mom" Catfish Stew, 2005
"Carol King & the Roller Derby Queen" Catfish Stew, 2006
"Barefoot Healing" Catfish Stew, 2006
"Clips" Catfish Stew, 2006
"Gray Area" moonShine review, June, 2006
"Baby, Don't Say Don't" moonShine review, December, 2006
"FM Blues" New England Writers Network Magazine, December, 2006
"Trade Secret" Down in the Dirt, January, 2007
"Trade Secret" (Reprint) Northwoods Journal, Spring, 2007
"New Blood" Midnight Times, April, 2007
"Flying Jenny" moonShine review, June, 2007
"The Interloper" Mobius, July, 2007
"Bite of the Dragon" Words of Wisdom, July, 2007
"Bobby & Me & Five-Cent Cigars" Pointed Circle, August, 2007
"Sunday Morning Conclusion" Metal Scratches, September, 2007
"Hungry" Writers Post Journal, October, 2007
"The Open Gate" The Petigru Review, October, 2007
"Silver Britches" The Petigru Review, October, 2007
"Midnight Clear" The Armchair Aesthete, October, 2007
"Caverns of the Mind" Barbaric Yawp, November, 2007
"Dear Season" moonShine review, December, 2007
Three reprints: "Gray Area" "Baby, Don't Say Don't" and "New Blood" are available on-line through
the Student Operated Press
Excerpt from "Hungry."
The eight-pound sledge hammer connected with McConnell's forehead at a velocity of almost
ten feet per second. He dropped like a cow in a slaughterhouse.
Malcolm Leatherby stepped down off the chute and, struggling just a little, pulled the body
free of the passageway. McConnell's eyes were fixed and dull already and there was an inch-deep
indentation midway between them and the line of curly brown hair. Malcolm maneuvered a chain and
pulley device out into the center of the room, placing a large washtub underneath.
"Go out the side door, Hannah, and fetch Warren to come help me with the lifting.
Oh, and may as well tell your momma to fire up the smokehouse as soon as she
finishes in the kitchen. This part won't take too long."
The girl was almost through the door when her father called to her. "You did good, honey.
You're a real asset to the family."
Down in the hollow later that morning, Earle Franklin Love shook hands with his nephew and
watched the junkyard truck disappear down the road with the Dodge Colt in tow.
The little car would be stripped and crushed, an unrecognizable lump of scrap metal
before noon. He studied the side of the mountain for a moment, saw a trail of smoke
from the Leatherby place, then turned and went back inside.
Mavis looked up from her paperback.
Love tapped his pipe into an ash tray and leaned on the counter. "Better make room
in the freezer, darlin'. Looks like we'll be stocking winter meat."
