We can hit a swine’s mouth at a thousand yards — Dear writers, You’ve heard all the things: Show, don’t tell. Murderer darlings. Use active voice. Go light on adjectives and adverbs. No unnecessary words. Don’t show off. Poe wrote best when he wasn’t hammered drunk. Write simply. Write clearly. Hook readers early and never let up. Know the rules so…

You’ll need them one day. Badly. — I met my Mindy on Halloween night in a graveyard. It was the first time in my life I’d met someone on Halloween night in a graveyard who was marriage material. But Mindy had stacked the deck in her favor: She’d made the graveyard with her own hands. Mindy’s always…

Love letter to my wife — One of the earliest fights I had with my wife was over her answer to a hypothetical question. I love hypothetical questions. When talking to anybody, that’s what I want to talk about: DAN: If you could be smarter or happier, which would you pick? STRANGER: What? DAN: If you…

A letter to my grandmother — Dear Grammy, It’s officially fall, the most wonderful time of the year. Fall means comfortable air, hot apple cider, come-hither leaves, and Halloween, which does not belong to the Devil. How do I know? …

We gave her a belly. She gave us a reason to go on. — You tell me your dog is the greatest, and I listen patiently. Which means, I half listen, or less. Because I’m thinking about my dog, her greatness. Your dog and her ways are fine and wonderful, I’m sure, but I’m not that sure. You don’t know my Blossom. I bet…

It’s in my blood, my genes, my me. — My little family went to South Carolina to celebrate a niece’s first birthday. And though we stayed at an inn called Quality, it took us a long time to find the quality. We looked for it at the front desk, but it wasn’t there. All they had there was a…

Do you dare and do you dare? — My wife and I were in the kitchen cooking and washing dishes. She was cooking, I was dishing. Dish washing is my favorite household chore. At my sink, I am good. I am very good. Everything I need is there: my soap, my yellow brush, my drying rack, my self-respect…

My vengeance hasn’t aged a day — A fast road cut through the little town where I grew up. It was a boondock highway, deadly Route 3. Speed limit 55. Which meant one gloomy pervert went 55, and everyone else enjoyed the gut-toughening roar of the 70s and 80s. The ditches on either side of Route 3…

The truth will set you screwed — We had a math teacher in middle school whose dome of teased red hair was inspiring. It had a certain intimate look that inspired jokes. The jokes shared by guys and gals alike were essentially one joke: Mrs. Dow’s head does not grow hair. It grows pubic hair. Kids are…