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TimTibbitts

“Freedom Fighter” Lyrics

29 Aug 2013, Posted by Tim Tibbitts in Short Stories

  FREEDOM FIGHTER (Independence Day, 2012)   At first the uniform made you feel taller But as the wars grind on you can’t see the valor Watching brothers-in-arms continue to fall where Villagers you’re helping hide bombs in their squalor How did it come to this?   You signed up to be a fighter for freedom Justice is you call You fight to defend our sweet liberty And justice for all, and justice for all.   When they pissed on the terrorist’s corpse you withdrew Convinced yourself there was nothing [you needed]to do If you got in the way, your…

Joshua Richmond–or Redmond–or Something

07 Aug 2013, Posted by Tim Tibbitts in Short Stories

LEXI-BELLE WAS GOING TO LOSE HER VIRGINITY by the end of the night.  Now that Gina Anderson had done it with Johnny DiMacchio’s on the Fourth of July, Lexi-Belle was the last of the sophomores to still be a virgin.  She hadn’t figured out all the pa’ticulars, but sometime between the opening kickoff and the last dying ember of the post-game bonfire, one of those big, dumb sons-a-bitches was gonna get lucky.  Of that she was sure.  Or at least she had been sure by the time she and Mary Ann—already drunk enough to be a bit unsteady in their…

Partly Cloudy With Flashes of Fiction

07 Aug 2013, Posted by Tim Tibbitts in Read My Story

Many full-time teachers who also write find summers to be their most productive time for writing.  As a father, for me summer has always been the toughest time to make time for my fiction writing.  Summer is fun, but the constant flux it presents is not nearly as beneficial for my writing as the structured routine of the school year.  (I’m not wishing away a minute of the summer—just saying…).  As the beginning of August approached, my friend and fellow writer Jim Garrett and I decided to challenge ourselves (and each other) to generate a “flash” of fiction or memoir…

What is Plot

29 Jun 2013, Posted by Tim Tibbitts in Read My Story

Since I finished work on Echo Still more than three years ago, I’ve been at work (on again off again) on a collection of loosely related short stories called Playing Possum. The collection started out as what I thought was going to be a second novel for young people, maybe this time the YA market. However, the combination of increased curiosity about the lives of characters whose own stories were not central to the main story and receiving as a gift Siobhan Fallon’s marvelous collection You Know When the Men Are Gone quickly changed my new novel into a collection of stories. I’m having a…

Stories

26 Jun 2013, Posted by Tim Tibbitts in Read My Story

While I will occasionally share what I’m learning about self-publishing, and while I will shamelessly use this blog to drum up interest for my forthcoming novel Echo Still (have I mentioned it was recognized as a “Manuscript of Merit” by the Jewish Library Association of America’s Sydney Taylor Manuscript Competition?), the focus of this blog is stories. Writing stories. Reading stories. Teaching (with) stories. So I thought during the summer, as I prepare my novel for self-publication, I would get this blog rolling by sharing some stories that I’ve written and published in the past decade. The first bunch of stories I’d like to share…

I Sing Myself

23 Jun 2013, Posted by Tim Tibbitts in Read My Story

“I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as Good belongs to you.” –Walt Whitman   Welcome to my new blog, “Read My Story!” I am starting this blog in connection with my new website, www.timtibbittsauthor.com. Another Tim Tibbitts, a chef in the Bahamas, already got our name .com, so I ended up with a domain name that announces its raison d’etre. Unless you count a few juvenile efforts, I have been writing fiction seriously since 2000, and while I’ve published a few little things here and there, I am ready to make…

Mini-Original #2: “New Kid”

18 Jun 2013, Posted by Tim Tibbitts in Short Stories

All alone in the fenced-in backyard, Rusty hurled the baseball as hard as he could into the air.  When a gust of wind caught the ball, Rusty gave chase. Just over the fence he could see the kite the neighbor kids had been trying all morning to keep aloft.  Back home, if somebody had a kite, everybody had a kite.  And the new kid wouldn’t be left playing catch by himself for a whole week without somebody comin’ over to say “Hey.” Suddenly, the wind slammed the kite right into a tree on along the fence. The neighbor kid, a…

Robert stood on what looked like a narrow stone path, only the path didn’t go anywhere.  Instead, it made a hexagon on the ground. Robert re-read the directions Grandpa had scrawled from memory. Follow picket fence out back to white gazebo with wrought iron trim. “Gazebo.”  That was a word he’d had to look up.  “A free-standing, roofed, usually open-sided structure providing a shady resting place.” Where was that gazebo?  Except for the abandoned farmhouse and the rickety picket fence, Robert didn’t see any structure of any sort. Not being certain where he was made Robert uneasy.  How much more…