UB MFA candidate Oakley Julian’s graduate thesis, Words and Silence, tells a true family story — the good, the bad, the foreign, the familiar. Read two micro-chapters below.

He was the first to make Van Gogh references and bar-brawl jokes after half of his ear was removed in 2003. Beyond those jokes and keeping folks more or less up-to-date on upcoming scans and procedures, there wasn’t much else added to the melanoma discussion for nearly 10 years. As his wife Joy told me, “Walter’s attitude towards this whole thing is that it’s chronic, not terminal. When something pops up, we handle it and then go on.” Read More →

UB grad student Ellen Hartley watches her wild life race past from behind the wheel.

1956:  The Chrysler

When I was 15, my mother drove me to the doctor’s to have a growth removed from my neck. I was old enough to get my learner’s permit but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. So I had to be chauffeured. Mother was more than happy to comply — she was in no hurry for me to start driving. Especially since it was her car – a shiny new Chrysler Windsor Deluxe – that I’d be abusing. Read More →

Baltimore writer Caryn Coyle weaves a true story of classic romance and classic cars.

The crush I had on my dad faded when I was a teenager.  I was selling shoes at Hutzler’s Department Store and met a startlingly handsome man.  He had dark hair and eyes as blue as my father’s.  His voice was soft, jovial.  He smiled as he leaned on the counter, next to me, writing receipts.  I was a wreck and I did not want the evening to end.

When the store closed, he asked if he could walk me out.  At the store’s entrance, he told me he’d see me again if I was working the next day.

I was three years from getting my driver’s license.  My dad was my chauffer, but I told him not to come the second day of the shoe sale unless I called him.

The following evening, I walked through the store again with the handsome man.  I told him I had to call my dad for a ride.  Tilting his head, he smiled at me, “I’ll drive you home.  Where do you live?”

He pushed one of the department store’s double glass doors for me and there was my dad’s 1962 Chevy Impala.  The car rolled slowly up to the wide concrete curb by the store’s entrance.

My dad’s window was down.  “Oh.  You have a ride.”   He was cheerful, matter-of-fact.  The car never stopped and he drove away.  I was stunned.  Embarrassed.  Furious at my dad.

I could feel the cold pavement through the soles of my shoes.  It was winter.  February.  1972.  “That was my dad,” I finally said.

He nodded, “He probably just wanted to be sure his little girl was all right.”

My embarrassment lifted and I followed him through the parking lot to an identical Chevy Impala, the same year as my dad’s.  He opened the passenger side door for me and I slid in. Read More →

As UB grad student Kimberley Lynne illustrates in this short story excerpted from her MFA thesis, “The world of Hamilton is thick with surprise.”

“Don’t I know you?” the Key Maker asks me. He’s even shorter than I am and built like a fireplug. He needs a step stool to reach the key templates hanging over his work station. He has stubby fingers and a halo of fine hair.

I’m glad I’m unwashed and wearing baggy clothes; sometimes it’s easier not to look pretty. I don’t have the emotional fortitude for conversation; a sob lurks in the back of my throat, threatening to rise. People who need key copies hover in some transitional zone between lovers or roommates; the Key Maker should respect our code of silence. Read More →

In honor of Daylight Savings Time, which begins on Sunday, March 10th, UB grad student Oakley Julian adjusts her broken clock but keeps it wrong.

There are several months of the calendar year when the clock in my car is only 14 minutes “fast.”

During the other six months, a new passenger (or one who hasn’t ridden with me in a while) might give the dashboard a double or even triple glance, realizing there is some sort of mathematical equation involved to see if we’re running late. Or early. Or right on schedule.

My car is a Daylight Savings Time-Free Zone. Like Hawaii. And Arizona (except for the Navajo Nation.) And Russia. And almost all of Asia and Africa.

Once I actually figure out how to change the clock in my car, I can sporadically observe European Summer Time like Turkey, Iran, Norway and Portugal.

UB grad student Kimberley Lynne is writing a short story collection set in Hamilton called Something with a Crust. Enjoy this hot, free sample!

He is egg-headed. His skin is tanned, not a Creole shade, but more like grease that coats an abandoned order of breakfast potatoes. Time hasn’t been kind to him. His missing sections of teeth give him a slight lisp. His thinning hair is combed over and peaked in the center of his skull, and something woolly grows out of his ears and wraps around the arms of his gun-metal glasses. His cheeks sag in pouches, pocked like pears teetering on the edge of decay. “I said I don’t do battery,” the lawn mower repairman slurs into one long word. Read More →

Goucher fiction prof Kathy Flann considers the implications of Philip Roth’s decision to quit writing. Writer friends weigh in.

One of the things about being a fiction writer who teaches creative writing – perhaps both a good thing and a bad one  – is that I grapple again and again with the advice I would give to my younger self.  Each time a student expresses interest in a writing career, I wonder if I would have made the same choices if I’d known then what I know now – just how hard writing is and how much rejection is involved.  What’s the responsible thing to do? Should I warn these fledgling writers – Run for your life while you still can! – or should I insulate them for as long as possible against the realities of “the business”? Read More →

UB MFA grad student Melinda Cianos meditates on food and love — and confesses a very salty secret.

1985. He is eye candy, there is no doubt about that: tanned and Greek and serious. He is Friends School educated, an all-metro athlete, a Scorpio. He is 28 years old and I am 18.

He picks me up for our first date in a ’73 red, convertible Corvette. He doesn’t walk up to the door to get me or meet my parents, but instead honks the horn. My father is sitting in front of the television and shoots a deprecating look my way as I grab my purse; I seem to receive that look often, even when I am just making a sandwich, which is probably the reason I am looking for somewhere else to be. Read More →

-as adapted by Dustin Fisher

Once upon a long off season, Ravens fans were given reason

To sit in the bleachers freezin, spilling nachos on the floor –

For the Ravens paid Ray Rice, and though the halfback named his price,

They still would not even think twice when Flacco asked the team for more.

But still the city cheered for they would have Lil Ray for five years more.

“Praise the Lord” quoth Baltimore. Read More →

This morning, giving my mother
to a hospital, a doctor, a surgeon,
a bed – that is the thing, the bed -

to give my mother to a bed
to heal. It makes me feel old, heavy,
full of the knowledge Read More →