In my younger days, I penned fiction assuming I was going to be one of those "jack of all trades" type of writers. You know, like Ernest Hemingway. So far, I've got Poppa's gut, I've downed a grapefruit daquiri at the Floridita, and now, I have published a short story. And while it's not exactly "The Snows of Killimanjaro," it's a start.
And Ernie, or Big Ern, never waxed on about the beautiful intersection of adolescent onaism (Repent ye teenage sinners!), carnival rides with dubious safety records, Billings MT, hot buttered maize and our Lord and Savior.
I'd like to offer a doff of the cap to Animal Farm and editor Patrick Gallagher for posting "Dragons Live Forever." His guidance brought to light the fire-breathing phallic double entendre I'd missed. If you like the lit stuff, there's a bunch of great stories in this month's "Bunga Bunga" issue.
I don't know about you, but I hate reading fiction online. I need my favorites (e.g. Greene, Whitehead, Alexie, Twain...stopping now this could go on forever) in book, magazine, or at the very least, printed page form. If you are interested in reading this story--Bless you, for real--I would suggest printing it out first. Not telling you how to conduct your bookish business, but this "short" story ain't all that concise.
