Writings & Whatnot by Rob Hill
1 Aug 2017Posted by on
“The Severed Man” is in the August issue of Dodging the Rain.
“A cedar canoe slipped through the steaming lakewaters, its bow noiselessly cleaving the roily surface. The figure aboard cringed as the fog wormed its sodden fingers through his hair, down the collar of his garments, along his beveled spine. He gripped the oar tightly, though the current urged the canoe without his guidance towards the bleak coastline which lay outstretched like a sleeping giant. The oily waters swirled in hypnotic circles. A hazy moon spied on him through a peephole in the swaddling mist. A tiny point of light was visible beyond the coastline, the ochre flame of a bonfire wavering in mad dance.”
26 Jun 2017Posted by on
Two stories of mine, “Baby Grand” and “Hell Frozen Over,” appear in issue #10 of Newtown Literary magazine. Order it from their online shop or, if you’re in Queens, snag a copy at the Astoria Bookshop.
7 May 2017Posted by on
12 Mar 2017Posted by on
How dapper my (very) short story “The Balloonseller” looks atop the Bottlecap Press blog.
11 Dec 2016Posted by on
My story “Butterfly in a Box” appears in the November 2016 issue of Polychrome Ink. For sale on their website.
13 Oct 2016Posted by on
29 Aug 2016Posted by on
My short story “Lost Glove” sullies the pages of the September issue of Sweater Weather.
13 May 2016Posted by on
Nearly all music that joins the ranks among my favorites typically does not make sense to me on first hearing. At first it sounds like a sky of indistinct clouds. Ambiguous, with little to latch onto. But on repeated listens my ear starts picking shapes out of the shapeless. That’s not a cloud, that’s a centaur. That’s a castle crumbling to dust. That’s an unsent love letter wedged behind the wainscoting. That’s a determined boy building the mother of all blanketforts. That’s an injured collie limping 200 miles to find its way home. That’s a man slitting his wife’s throat in the dead of night to collect the insurance. That’s a little girl gaining her sight after an operation and setting eyes on her mother for the very first time. And then it’s impossible to remember a time when I couldn’t see these images.