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Mark Wm Smith
An overeducated, blue-collar cowboy, I grew up on along the banks of the Yellowstone River in Eastern Montana. Raised by a long haul trucker and a bartending waitress, I learned the hard ways of the modern frontier, scraping life from the unforgiving high chaparral.
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The Last Winter of 2000
Beginnings are impossible. I’ve been starting the author game for 20-plus years. It rarely appears as work in progress. Fits and starts. That’s my record. Fits lead to starts/restarts lead to fits, ad nauseam. Time to stop beginning and advance. Accept my invitation...
MGC Chapter Seven
Feeble illumination from a lone bulb flickered above thirty feet of dark mahogany, giving the deeply polished wood of the Montana Bar a reverent glow. Rows of bottled spirits trembled with the electric energy of the back bar lights. An odor of disinfectant jeopardized...
MGC Chapter Six
Five-year-old Penelope Jane thrust a multi-colored drawing at my face. “Unicorns are real,” she said in the manner of absolutes reserved for young children. I’d driven home, needing to see her, to touch my child, make sure she was safe. Stretched out beside her on...
MGC Chapter Five
“That deal with Johnny Martin,” I said, striding toward Mother’s car and stabbing a thumb over my shoulder. “It’s the one that saves our business. And you just drove over top of it with your damned Chrysler.” My heartbeat had to be double its resting rate. “You left...