Losing them, fixing them, forgetting to put them in
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Karlton Kelm’s pet beef: “Little magazines that have a P.O. Box number, then give up their box immediately upon suspending publication, without returning manuscripts, or even answering inquiries about them. I have lost five manuscripts in the past year, and have no way of contacting the editors. Such culprits should be shot on sight, or at least deprived of their beer and schnopps for at least a year.” Karlton lives in Hoboken, New Jersey.
The Home for Refined Ladies was an old, turreted, red-brick building converted from a Catholic girls’ academy which had moved to a newer building in a better part of Dubuque, Iowa, up on the hills overlooking the Mississippi.
Before my father died I loved my mother, but now it’s different. I can no longer go to her, put my arms around her, or anything like that. She has become somehow strange to me, and so, not lovable.
Mrs. Paradiso had never read any part of the Bible. She did not concentrate on dogma but devotion. Her religion was not a retreat for her mind but a release for her emotions.