BUY MY BOOKS | HOME | FICTION | ESSAYS | ON-LINE DIARY | MARGINALIA | GALLERY | INTERACTIVE FEATURES | FAQ | SEARCH ENGINE | LINKS | CONTACT




My latest book. In our modern world, only Ghosters know what comes after death. What stays behind. And what dwells between.

To buy Ghosters in the US, please go here.

To buy Ghosters in the UK, please go here.



the official website for the writings of
ralph robert moore

www.ralphrobertmoore.com


If you're here, it's probably night. You can see a window from where you sit, and the window is dark. Who really knows what's outside?

I write. If you read, we've just made a connection.

SENTENCE is the forest you fall asleep into.

I created SENTENCE back in 1998 as a way of letting readers know a little bit more about me. Here you'll find about a dozen of my stories, the complete text of my novel Father Figure, essays of mine, videos I've made, photographs I've shot, a decade and a half of my on-line diary entries, some of my favorite recipes, and much, much more. I don't fear plagiarism. Ideas can be stolen-- a simile, a description, a plot, a joke-- but that will happen regardless of the medium in which your luggage is left alone on the airport floor. The truth is, fear of plagiarism is fear of readership. To be plagiarized is never fatal. What is more important is to be read. Because if it's in a box, and no one but you knows about the storms raging through the paragraphs, the footsteps plodding soggily down the sentences, water dripping off the rims of words, that's the biggest shame of all. A fizzle. Because the real achievement of writing is not the writing. The real achievement of writing is someone else reading the writing.

SENTENCE started as an island. Over the years, its accumulated bulk, added to each month, became a continent.

Art is an invitation to go inside someone else's mind. To see our world as they see it. SENTENCE is my mind.

I've been published in America, Canada, England, Ireland, India and Australia in a wide variety of genre and literary magazines and anthologies. My fiction has been called "graphically morbid". My writings are not for everyone. Are they for you? Find out.

I'm glad you came. I just lit a cigarette. I just poured Merlot. I hope you enjoy your exploration.

And to see what I'm up to right now, and what currently interests me, visit my page.



Webmaster Ralph Robert Moore at robmary@swbell.net. Entire contents Copyright © 1997-2014 by Ralph Robert Moore, All Rights Reserved.

Established January 1, 1998.

For samples of my writing style, please go to WORDS WALKING NUDE

To see where I've been published, please go to BIBLIOGRAPHY

To buy my books, please go to BUY MY BOOKS

For a complete chronology of site updates, please see HISTORY

SENTENCE Publishing

Ralph Robert Moore on Facebook




"All was chaos, that is, earth, air, water, and fire were mixed together; and out of that bulk a mass formed-- just as cheese is made out of milk-- and worms appeared in it, and these were the angels."

-- Domenico Scandella, 1599 (Two years before being burned at the stake).



like they do in movies
december 1, 2014


Let Me Breathe Tomorrow (or something like that).

This will be the opening paragraph to the story. I haven't decided what to use yet, but it'll definitely be something quirky, that draws you in, like, Hey, what the fuck is this guy talking about? Let's see, let me think. Grandma woke up choking from the dime that had appeared in her mouth. I don't know. Tommy couldn't visit the penguins that Tuesday, because Grandma woke up with a dime in her mouth. Bingo! But in addition to being quirky, it'll also be sensitive, like my title. You'll read the title and think, Wow, this is a sensitive guy talking. His title is so evocative! Maybe like, Let Me Breathe Her Tomorrow. I like that! So right away you're thinking, Who is this "her" bitch?

So we have:

Let Me Breathe Her Tomorrow (title)

First sentence: Tommy couldn't visit the penguins that Thursday, because Grandma woke up with a dime in her mouth.

Okay. Don't get stalled now. What's the second sentence?

I probably don't want to explain why Grandma has a dime in her mouth, because that would make it too mundane. Keep it poetic.

It was the smallest amount of money ever to appear in Grandma's mouth. Usually, in the morning, she'd find paper money sticking to her dentures. I don't know. Paper money inside her mouth, sticking to her dentures. Paper in her mouth, like dentures celebrating our most famous American presidents. Celebrating in green and white, our most famous dead American presidents. Does 'paper money' sound kind of odd? Paper currency? I'm going to fix a drink.

Tommy couldn't visit the penguins that Thursday, because Grandma woke up with a dime in her mouth. It was the smallest amount of money ever to appear in Grandma's mouth. Usually, in the morning, she'd find five or ten dollars bills in her mouth, wrapped around her tongue. A five or ten dollar bill, doing what? A five or ten dollar bill, stuck to the roof of her mouth. She'd carefully. She'd lift her tongue, carefully sliding the bill forward and down, so she could pull it out between her dentures. I like that touch. The tongue lifting, the sliding across the red ceiling of her mouth , the dentures. Pulling money out of her mouth like it was a long hair.

God knows she could use the money. Sometimes she'd question why money would always appear in her mouth when she woke. At first she wondered why, each morning, there would be money in her mouth, but because it happened each morning. But because it kept happening, with no ill effect. But because it kept happening each morning, and the money was so helpful, it wasn't long before she simply accepted that her life had changed. Her life had changed for the better. Finally. Probably don't need 'finally.'

Okay, wait a minute. If Grandma keeps waking up with money in her mouth, why can't she take Tommy to see the penguins?

Fuck!

Tommy was able to visit the penguins after all that Thursday, because Grandma woke up with a dime in her mouth.

Arggh!

How would a fucking dime make a difference?

Knocking at the front door to the apartment. Now I have to stop typing until I hear the shoes go away. Do they have an ear against the door?

Tommy was able to visit the penguins after all that Thursday, because Grandma woke up with a ten dollar bill in her mouth. Twenty dollar bill.

Tommy was able to visit the penguins after all that Thursday, because Grandma woke up with a hundred dollar bill in her mouth.

It was the largest amount of money ever to appear in Grandma's mouth. Usually, in the morning, a dime or a quarter would be resting against a back molar, like a loose tooth. But never before any paper currency.

She lifted her tongue, carefully sliding the bill forward and down, so she could pull it out between her dentures, see what it was.

A hundred dollars!

God knows she could use the money. At first she wondered why, each morning, there would be money in her mouth, but because it kept happening when she woke, and the money was so helpful, it wasn't long before she simply accepted that her life had changed for the better. And who really wants to question why their life has suddenly changed for the better?

"The power of Let Me Breathe Her Tomorrow is in how it magically evokes. Let Me Breathe Her Tomorrow powerfully evokes a world in which the magical appearance of money transforms lives both old and young in a scathing criticism of modern political economics, where massive gray corporations try to prevent us from seeing the black and white of contemporary wealth distribution, as symbolized by the innocent duo-toned penguins frolicking at a zoo. I wept."

The phone is buzzing. Ignoring it.

Okay, time to bring in Tommy.

"Tommy?" His grandma finished wiping her warm spit off the hundred dollar bill she had pulled out of her mouth. "Do you still want to see the penguins?"

Tommy stood erect in his thrift store clothes. "Well, yeah! But I thought we couldn't afford it, Grandma!"

The old woman showed him the hundred dollar bill in her wrinkled fingers. "And we got enough money left over to have a decent lunch at the zoo's restaurant afterwards!"

Tommy's young eyebrows shot up on his forehead. "Does that mean I can get French fries?"

The old lady chuckled. She had had a hard life. Never knew her father. Had to work in quality control at a zipper factory at the age of twelve. Got carpal tunnel disease in her right hand. Sold into white slavery at the age of fourteen. A chance to see the world, but at a terrible price.

"Better believe it, boy!"

The shoes came back, louder with each approaching step. A series of knocks against the front door.

Silence, stillness inside the apartment.

A paper slipped under the door. Like they do in movies.



A new Lately is published each month. To print this Lately, please go here. To read previous Latelys, please go here.