The next morning the phone rings early, five-thirty, definitely not later than six. The birds outside don’t scream that loud after six. The voice on the phone is my niece, the fifteen-year-old,
Suddenly I want to be the one to leave a party.
Maybe life imitates art after all.
There’s been a lot of talk about Executives in the news lately, a lot of mystery and confusion. For the last year, I’ve had a side-gig proofreading executive resumes. Now I know all about
LAKE ELSINORE WILL HOST THE ONE TRICK PONY
This place was one of those places. Had a minor league baseball team, an Angels affiliate, on some high ground, halfway between Riverside and
As I write this, nearly a month into the season, my beloved Phillies flounder in third place. Even that dubious standing owes much to their good fortune over the weekend, which saw Detroit sweep
HOBART: Maybe I'm seeing a connection where there isn't one and this doesn't apply more to writers than anyone else, but I feel like I've increasingly seen/met writers who run, bike, and are otherwise
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
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
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
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?"
