On April 9, my debut novel League of Somebodies was released by Seattle's Dark Coast Press. Two months earlier, my fellow Bay Area novelist Joshua Mohr released Fight Song, his fourth novel.
As a teenager, I had this superficial interest in handguns—I liked how the metal felt against my skin. I had never learned to shoot one, however, nor did I really intend to know at that young age.
The first and the simplest emotion which we discover in the human mind is curiosity, so it does not surprise me when you say you are leaving for the rest of the evening to climb Mount Grablehorn or
Last week, my birthday passed without time to celebrate. No cake, no party. I’ve been working a lot. My daughter refuses to believe I’m a year older because I didn’t blow out any candles.
“If
Walter White is looking in the mirror when he hears a key in the door of his condo. He is smoothing a deep maroon shirt, new, Hugo Boss, over his abdomen. He is liking the shiny sheen of it and
Everyone watched him walk to the guy. Everyone saw. They were all watching with their big stupid eyes that wouldn't let anyone off the hook. And this guy, he was always on the hook. A guy who was
We know. We know. First we told you we didn’t publish poetry. And now look at us. Thanks to the fantastic Caleb Curtiss (and until recently, the amazing Andrea Kneeland) we are not only publishing
This poem is about death and, to some extent, life.
For the last couple of years, we've asked some of our favorite writers and contributors and known baseball fans to "predict the season," a kind of Hobart version to an expert's panel of predictions
For the last couple of years, we've asked some of our favorite writers and contributors and known baseball fans to "predict the season," a kind of Hobart version to an expert's panel of predictions
The night before we met Mark Grace, dad had too many Michelobs and was more generous than usual with his baseball assessments.
“He isn’t great like Stan the Man Musial was, but, sure, Grace is
September 13, 1998
Murphy's was packed beyond any regard to occupancy regulations, and this made Evan both grateful and concerned. With so many people around him, it was physically
Anyone who loves Tim loves him for the same reason.
He hit one home run. "Did you ever hit one?"
He'll ask, as the day begins to wash over his face
and he leans back to stare at the baseball
"Mickey Mantle?" he says. "That can't be real. Your name is Mickey Mantle?"
We made it. The 2013 Major League Baseball season is right there in front of us, a vast expanse of fastballs and line drives, diving stops and crisp throws, attaboys and errors, beers and hot dogs.
She can hear the crowd humming through the speakers. The announcer is the same announcer she's heard all these years out west. She can never remember his name. In the mirror in front of her is her
after A.E. Stallings
That his fingernails are immaculate, shaped
into thin arches of moon. That he files them
in the locker room before games, between innings in the
— Sunday, October 13th, 1974 –Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles, CA
In the dugout, waiting to run.
The whole game memorizing the pale swirls in the concrete floor of the Dodgers’s visiting
Derek Cianfrance’s intense crime drama A Place Beyond The Pines affected me in a way that a movie hasn’t in a long time. Just like his previous film, Blue Valentine, I couldn’t stop thinking about
The thought of home was more than he could bear. The sunk-in feeling of his recliner, the smell of Linda’s pot roast, the weight of her body pressed up against his in the bedroom doorway -- all of
For the last couple of years, we've asked some of our favorite writers and contributors and known baseball fans to "predict the season," a kind of Hobart version to an expert's panel of predictions
Houston Astros: Chia-Jen Lo, P
Dang, it’s weird putting “Houston Astros” under “AL WEST.” That poor team. At least they got to face the Cubs all the time last year; now they have to play
I’ve resolved this baseball season to watch every game played by my favorite team, the Philadelphia Phillies, and to send periodic dispatches to our faithful editors here at Hobart.
This
To me, he was just Casey. The math teacher at the local high school. I went to school and played ball with his son, Patrick, since grade school. Even went to their house every May for a birthday
