James Kane - PE / Meet The Teacher
User Home Page Genealogy Report: Descendants of JAMES CLAFFEY My husband Glenn presented me with my first important clue. Meet at his residence at 10 o'clock on Thursday and proceed to the Catholic Church, from this to the. FAIRFIELD — James F. Claffey, the educator who started his career in Vallejo schools . The story about the Solano Community College Governing Board meeting in I've come to dread my friend asking me, 'Does this make me look fat ?'. The Plaything of Whales, by James Claffey The dying loons crash from the when we first met, not when her soft curves and wavy hair made me crazy for her.Zedd - The Middle ft. Maren Morris & Grey (SING OFF vs. MY BEST FRIEND)
An apron of dead leaves spread around the fire and I scooped a handful and lay them on the embers in an attempt to better see his death mask. Like his temper, the violence of the flames abated in short order and he returned to his bearish brooding as I prayed a silent prayer for his tortured soul.
I could see him under overcast skies, his raincoat soaked and his wide brow salted with drops blown from the Blasket Islands. Behind shuttered windows and slick streets an aproned shopkeeper might greet such a man with the look of a starved creature, his full-boned body something she could feast upon for years to come.
Yet, my raving imagination discarded his Holy obligation to my mother and her brood. The debts pressing on your skull brought only a tightly contained blister to your forehead. A pat of yellow butter, she said. It will ease the pressure and allow you some respite from your misery. The story of how you met. She accompanied someone else, in spats and tuxedo, hair oiled to sheen.
Pure twinkle toes in those days and how he knew it. Watch out for that one, her mother told her. I was never able to corroborate the warnings, as my grandmother died before I was old enough to realize she contained multitudes. Oh, he plucked the courage to ask her for a dance and then refused to deliver her back to her date, instead whisking her away for the night in his motorcar.
She sent me a video of this ancient, wild mining town and I was living in NY at the time. I used to come and go and now I go and stay. The big sky rocked me when I first saw it! We live in a house that gives us three views of different mountain ranges and we can ride our dirt bikes out here.
I am in LOVE! If you were cast into space on the Mars Voyager and could only take one book and one piece of music, what would they be, and why? Because they are necessary and my bones are buried inside them. You are a terrifically busy writer and editor, involved in multiple projects and journals at any one time. Working as an editor for Connotation Press has been three years of another love affair.
I am ecstatic when I read a submission that breaks it all apart. Time slows down and I orbit this magic.
Ken Robidoux is one exceptional human being that I am blessed to work with! He is no bullshit, pure joy and luminous, and I am peanut butter spread slab-thick. There are no thin walls here.
Santa Fe Literary Review is an annual print magazine and once again, I am in the appreciative position to publish some exemplary students, as well as writers around the globe that need to be read. Miriam Sagan, the founder and editor-in-chief, is also pure joy and brilliance!
Claffey - Message Boards Search
So being an editor has been a damn great experience. It has only opened my world to more writers out there that need to have an audience.
If you could write an exquisite duet with any writer, dead or alive, who would it be and why? My duet would be with Janet Frame. A quick poem, using the words: Jellied breath of intruders pillowed themselves inside her every night. She stood dazed, let the moon mouth her into what most call duty or nothing less than a uniform with darts where breasts petrify.
The Drum Literary Magazine : Issue March : JAMES CLAFFEY Placenta
Yes, splintered casts, drunk on their tethered worthiness of yellow lust or decay, ordered a pink dollhouse of Munchkins and coffee in a four-pack. Flat faces waned and waxed a slack wind trussed up on candy-colored martinis and meth into her lungs, empty as withered glasses on sticky tabletops. Can you speak to the process involved in putting together a collection of stories?
I usually work with the publisher. I have my idea of what seems to gel and move through a collection and then I like to get feedback. So far, each book, has been a smooth collaborative between the publisher and myself. What if I struck up a conversation with her, complimented her on her choice of pet, offered to take her for coffee, or a glass of wine at the small tasting room across the road from my motel.
Instead, I cart my book and towel back up the slope, the opaque night fallen, and my spirits weighed down with my own petty worries. Small stands of bright white fungus spread between the stones and I kick them into pieces with the toe of my shoe. The bar is dark, tables filled with diners, the walls sport animal heads, hunting trophies; deer, moose, and a jackalope with flashing red electronic eyes that keep an eye on belligerent customers.
The waitress takes my order for a burger, fries, and beer, returning a few minutes later with an over-full Hefeweizen. Tang of citrus, the taste of a holiday in Greece years ago comes flooding back. English girls, too many teeth, short hair and spotty skin. We ate moussaka at the harbor-side restaurant and drank retsina until the waiters cleared the tables and the water rats surfaced to scavenge from the trash cans. I flick the pages of the book and drink half the beer in one go.
A single lady sits at a banquette table, her hair piled high on her head, white dress, short, and arms dripping with gold. We drink at the local bars, my wife and I. Break for the Border, fake Mexican food and shitty mixed drinks.
She likes her martini up, slightly dirty. The way she pops the olive off the cocktail stick and sucks on it makes me so angry.