The WriteAngles Journal

by Ann C. Averill My first memory is of a rented cottage on a skinny point jutting into the confluence of the Housatonic River and Long Island Sound. I’m afraid of the snails that pock the beach in front of the gray shingled shack, so when we swim, Daddy carries me into the water. When […]

by Siegfried Haug Many people have asked me how I came to invent the now omni-present Good-Times-Watch. Truth be told, it was a fluke. As I look back I can see a confluence of circumstantial happenstances – a veritable conspiracy of trivia – affording me that breakthrough in mind-technology: the harnessing of good-time-power. So, in

by Amy Laprade Once, during daylight hours, a maintenance man named Niles heard strange noises inside the walls of the church: sighing and whistling – not the sweet, melodic kind but the perverse kind, followed by cat-calls and wheezing. The sounds made his neck muscles stiffen, his flesh crawl, and his saliva turn metallic with

by Norma Sims Roche Once there was a boy named João who lived in a fishing village on the coast of Portugal. João was the youngest of three brothers, and he was clever and curious. He would climb as far up the hills behind the village as he had time to do between chores, and

by Don Lesser Now that “Kaleidoscope” is everywhere – websites, textbooks, the new Whitney – after Anne Marie’s tell-all biography and Michael’s predictably fulsome one, and after, god help me, its own calendar, there is really nothing new to say. Still, I remember when Georges and I first saw it. Anne and the solid Michael

by Peter Murkett I had long run my own company, but business was changing. Up walked Otherwise, darkening my door. He was a big man with a ripple effect, a force with a field. But he carried himself well, sigh. He entered, we shook hands, and got down to work. He was at ease with

by Siegfried Haug Tammy, the waitress, says: “She is such a dear.” I know whom she is talking about: the diminutive lady in an Icelandic sweater and matching hat. She eats breakfast at Ms. Flo’s every time I am there. “Lydia,” I believe, the staff calls her; the “girls” slip into the booth to write

by D. K. McCutchen January 21, 2017; the crowd was so jammed together that rocking foot-to-foot was difficult. On tip-toes, pink pussy hats blended the sea of heads into lilac, interspersed with rainbow signs: I Am Very Upset; Just No; Get your filthy laws off my silky drawers; I’ve Seen Sturdier Cabinets at Ikea; Put

by Diane Kane I grew up in the 1960’s when ottomans were called hassocks, and Borderline Personality Disorder was still known as Schizophrenia. The hassocks of the 1960’s that I remember were hard, with blunt edges, and bright patterns. The ottomans of today are soft and rounded, in calming colors. Although they serve the same

by Mohammad Yadegari Most houses in Karbala, and the Middle East in general, are built around a central courtyard and have a howz (decorative pool), usually in the center of the yard. From the Taj Mahal of India to tiny village homes, the howz is a universal feature of Muslim architecture. The howz might be