Jack Carneal.

by Jack CarnealOne night we go drink warmish beers in a mosquito-infested bar with Andrea and Alan, two people Chris works with. They’re unmarried, child-free and excited to attend a concert later on. Naturally they invite us along. I’m quick to blame our one and a half year-old son for our begging out but Chris chirps that in fact we’d love to go. Andy holds … [Read more...] about Pilgrimage

by Jack Carneal     When he was just starting out working for the city of Richmond in the mid or late 50s, 1957 or ‘58 maybe—Eugenie and I were married in ’61, Ogden was born 1961, Cammie in ’64 and Fitz in ’66, he said to Sally— Tick was asked to teach one semester of a course up at the University of Virginia.  When … [Read more...] about Tick Story: Part Two

by Jack Carneal              Shit happens.              Is there a worse saying than that one?               Tick was in the garage about to varnish the bench seat to the Whaler runabout.  … [Read more...] about Tick Story: Part One

by Jack Carneal  He was riding his bicycle on a small worn path through a brilliantly green field of clipped grass.  The path itself glowed underwheel.  The surrounding field was beautiful but had about it a false, otherworldly, too-perfect sheen.  Fitz was ecstatic and riding effortlessly, following his brother.  Ogden said,  “There … [Read more...] about Small and Lesser Fates: Fitzgerald

by Jack Carneal Last night just after midnight he was awakened by the urgent hooting of an owl.   It was as if the owl was directing him to do something, not asking but telling.  This recognition had less to do with any mystical connection to owls that he did not have and more to do with the purity and directness of an owl’s voice.  If … [Read more...] about Small and Lesser Fates: Ogden