Seeking Credible Stories about the Future of Donald Trump

A challenge for storymakers

By Moristotle & Paul Clark (aka motomynd)

Moristotle to both budding and fully flowered storytellers in search of an idea: I challenge you to write a credible story for Moristotle & Co. about the future of Donald Trump – if he has a future – or about his end, if you imagine he does not. I even offer you a scenario to get started:

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 20. Two More Cases

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Once on the line with Captain Leo Hawkins of the Seattle Police Department’s Special Crimes Division, Blake identified himself. “Captain, your serial killings popped up on our computer and I wanted to offer you my assistance.”
    Captain Hawkins was dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, Agent Harris, but I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. We’ve had some murders that we’re having a hard time solving, but there hasn’t been a serial killing in Seattle in years.”

All Over the Place: New Year’s in the Back Forty

By Michael H. Brownstein

This poem is from my book How Do We Create Love, with a new title.


How do we create love?

In the gum of sweet mud tracing its way through large blonde sandbars puckering

against the ribs of the Missouri, a small ripple of ice cold water drips into the river.

Acting Citizen: Trump Island

Sovereign Nation/ Reality Show

By James Knudsen

I realize I’ve become terribly fond of pieces that involve lists, but hopefully this will be the last one (at least for this year). Trump has mined the Trump Taco Bowl for Latino votes, and I’ve included the photographic proof.

All Over the Place: The Executive of Pesticides Celebrates Christmas

By Michael H. Brownstein

Based on the poem, “The Colonel,” by Carolyn Forché 

    [I wrote this prose poem when a group I was with were trying to get Monsanto to give reparations to the Vietnamese for the continuing damage of Agent Orange. They knocked down our website once – but we did not allow them to do it again.]

John Collier's “Lilith” painting de-snaked for ophidiophobics

Cherishing fur and fabric instead?

By Moristotle

This make-over was prompted by an unfortunate reaction: “My Fear of Snakes” (posted on December 19).

Highways and Byways: Christmas 1974

By Maik Strosahl

Raised as one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, I grew up not celebrating Christmas. In our family, it was just another day, but one we got to enjoy together. So, when people asked me to write about childhood memories of the holiday, it was back to making up stories. In the poem below, I wanted to capture kids playing with their new toys and some of the conflicts that came about from the treasures that Santa left for good boys and girls. Happy Holidays, everybody, from 1974.


G. I. Joe wakes on the flatbed
to the incessant whistle
of an angry conductor.
Barbie is escorted
from sitting on the caboose.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 19. Cold Streets of Memphis

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Wayne had had a shower, a shave, and a haircut and been given new clothes, and after a good night’s sleep, he was turned back out onto the streets. As he stood at the curb wondering which way to go, a short black man came out of the mission behind him. “You look like you could use a friend. Are you new in town?”
    Wayne looked down at the smiling face and almost laughed. “I know my way around, if that’s what you’re asking.”

At Random: Infiltrator

By Paul Clark
(aka motomynd)

The deer accept me as their own,
rest easy an arm’s reach away.
They welcome me into the nursery thicket,
protecting them as the new are born.

They trust me,
think they know my mind,
but I’m an infiltrator,
I used to hunt their kind.

All Over the Place: The Christmas Tree of Thanksgiving

By Michael H. Brownstein

When the small boy came knocking,

the wind a blizzard of disease and frostbite,

the old couple opened their home to him,

and offered him from the little they had –

hot apple cider, a stew of potato, warmed flour.

My Fear of Snakes

It arose from early life experiences

By Karen Condley Abbey

[Editor’s Note: The author of this little piece is my niece, so I of course  k n e w  that she was afraid of snakes. But I forgot that fact and failed to cover up the snake in John Collier’s painting shown with Maik Strosahl’s poem about Lilith (“The First Wife”). Not good – Karen subscribes to email notices of blog posts, and she emailed me, “Please remember to warn me if you post anything with pictures of snakes, because I have a real bad phobia, and once I see a picture of a snake, it will keep popping into my head.” By way of saying I was sorry, I invited my niece to write about how her fear of snakes originated....]

Roger’s Reality: What are these things?

By Roger Owens

What are these things? I mean I know what they are, I’m not stupid! But what are they doing, damn it? What are they doing? What are they doing there, or there, or there? What right do they have to just lay around like that? What right? Laughingly, accusingly, disdainfully. Just laying there. Cluttering up the place, getting in the way, serving no useful purpose, but most of all irritating the living hell right out of me. Just a year or two ago, any tool or implement I possessed would scurry in a fright to its appointed station rather than have its master find it out of place. A place for everything, by God, and everything better be in it if everything knows what’s good for it.

The Joy in the Journey: Ode to Beethoven

By Geoffrey Dean

December 17, 2020, marks the 250th birth anniversary of the composer Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827). Among the most-cherished experiences of my musical career are the opportunities I have had to perform Beethoven’s complete string quartets and cello sonatas, and revisiting his compositions always yields new insights that often extend far beyond the music itself.

Highways and Byways: Ashtapada

By Maik Strosahl

I stumbled across a piece of information that the modern game of Chess probably originated in India from Ashtapada and a few other variations. The interesting fact to me was that Gautama Buddha listed these games as a distraction that should be avoided by his followers. The rules evolved through the years, with the queen and bishop added in the 1400s by players in Spain, and it wasn’t until the 19th century that Chess was standardized into the form we know today. Here is my take on the evolution of the game that has distracted many.

BODY COUNT: Killers (a novel): Chapter 18. Back in the Saddle

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Blake stepped off the elevator onto the 2nd floor and began his walk of shame, for he truly was ashamed and wasn’t sure how he was going to make it up to the other members of his team. If he had learned anything from recent events, it was that he was no longer a captain in the police force, but rather a member of a team, a team that didn’t need a boss, but only a light push in the right direction.
    He passed Taylor’s door but there was no one there. He walked into his own office and sighed at the thought of no more field work. However, June was right, this was where he belonged.