Stephen Metcalfe

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Talk about a Christmas gift. My sister in law sent me something from the family archives back in Connecticut. How she found it I don’t know. It’s a poem I must have written around my third year of college and sent home. I have no idea who kept it. It’s about my father. He and

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The Annual Christmas Post When Wayne McKee walks into his kitchen, he is suddenly and obliquely aware of how cold and grey and unkempt the room is. Is it possible that it’s changed in the three minutes it took him to get to and from the back door of the house? As if seeing it

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I’ve been working on some different things and haven’t posted in a while. I thought I’d throw out a small blast from the past. These are two excerpts from my novel, The Practical Navigator, published in 2016. * “You seem particularly edgy today.” “Do I? You don’t.” In the five weeks that Anita’s been seeing

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From my novel, Attachment Patterns It came from the back of the room, a soft, shy voice. “Mr. Boone, what is it you like about art?” (Talk about questions.) “Jesus, I don’t know, I just do it.” More giggles and grins and Dad smiled in return. He pondered a moment. What did he like about

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An interesting phrase came across my desk recently.  The Great Exhaustion.  It seems that all over the world a vast number of people are tired.  Burnt out.  Stressed out.  Overwhelmed.  It apparently makes them want to lie down and take a nap.   Okay, not really.  By nap, one is referring to sleep.  In this case, it’s more

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Yes, it’s happening, something grand. The news came out of nowhere, a complete surprise.  “Okay, what do you think this is,” asked my lovely daughter, she and her husband, showing us an image on her cell phone.  My wife and I had no idea.  It looked like a small, swirling whirlpool.  (“A hurricane in the

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