Kenneth Lawson
Bio
Baby Boomer,Writer, Connoisseur of all things Classic: Movies, Television, Music, Vinyl, Cars, techonolgy
I write stories that bend genres and cross the boundries of time and space.
New Story every Month
Stories (63)
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Family Pictures
The Ferris wheel creaked and groaned as it spun, defying gravity. As a kid in the southwest, I had a love/hate thing with Ferris wheels. But something was alluring about seeing the world perched atop a rickety wheel held up by bars of steel and spun on demand.
By Kenneth Lawsonabout a year ago in Fiction
When Pumpkins Attack
The carved pumpkins appeared overnight throughout the city. There had been legends of mysterious pumpkins randomly showing up for decades. Most people just put it down to a tall tale told by kids and old folks to lighten up a late night. According to the stories, anyone who found a pumpkin at their doorstep could expect various bad things to happen to them. But no one believed it.
By Kenneth Lawsonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lady in The Pool
The ripple in the pool could have been caused by the breeze. It wasn’t. It was caused by Sophia Andrews falling backward into the pool with a bullet in her head. Sophia Andrews was a silent partner in the hotel, among many other things—none of them good. If justice were indeed served, the cops would even let it go. But cops are cops, and someone had to pay for murder.
By Kenneth Lawsonabout a year ago in Fiction
What Do You Write?
Introduction In perusing Vocal media, I regularly see five types of content. This is not an inclusive list but a general overview of what I see commonly. In no particular order, they are Stories (fiction and nonfiction), Editorials, Informational articles, Poetry, and Advertising pretending to be informational articles. I suspect other platforms that host and promote user-generated content offer similar content.
By Kenneth Lawsonabout a year ago in Writers
Exit; Otis Manning
The rain suffocated the city like a heavy wet blanket that someone kept pouring more water on. The air hung with a dampness that seeped into every pore of the city. The sun had long ago given up on plowing through the clouds. It now only made half-hearted attempts at lighting the day.
By Kenneth Lawsonabout a year ago in Fiction
