Todd Zuniga’s Literary Death Match came to town and I was lucky to be among the four combatants. The rules of engagement: Two writers square off and read for seven minutes each, of which one advances to round two. Then, two more. I read in the second, versus ultimate winner Sloan Davis of Nimrod, the Tulsa-based lit journal.
“He’s cute,” said Reta, about to jam her fingers in my son’s mouth. And I began to wonder for how long. Would he still be cute and 7 when the hour was up? I distracted myself by looking out the picture window, where the creek meandered through a stand of golden-leafed oaks. I said something about the scenery, leaving the orthodontics to the pros.