Dust everywhere. If anyone came down the road a trail of dust that would blow across the brown, withered lawn towards the small house. It was worse now than it used to be but to the three kids sitting on the worn out couch on the front it was always like this. They weren’t around when the road well taken care of and the driveway had fresh gravel on it. That was before the new highway was carved through the fields on the other side of town. Now the fruit stand and store, once colorful and alive, were abandoned shells and only the school bus during the school year, and an occasional truck or car drove by. No one stopped.

Sam and Lila had tried to move before the new highway was built but they couldn’t sell. They were in no mans land. There wouldn’t be any traffic and water was being diverted to the new sub-divisions. The land was turning back to into the desert were nothing grew. Plus they had their kids. By the time the last one took off they had three young grand-babies to take care off. That was supposed to be for just a little while but it had stretched out. Good kids, twin boys and a doll of a girl but they were a handful. So they finally give up trying to move and settled in for the rest of their time. Money was tight but they were ok if nothing big happened. The kids mom sent money for them and visited when she could but it all depended on how she was doing up North.

The little girl saw the car first. “Hey, look, it’s her, Mommy.”

The boys looked and jumped up. The car slowed and turned into the drive, momentarily lost in the following cloud of dust.

“Mommy, Mommy” the girl clapped her hands. The boys just stood looking and Sam, hearing all the noise, came and watched from behind the screen door.

The car was a small two door covered with dust. It stopped a few yards away from the house.

The driver, a man in a tee shirt ,shorts and tennis shoes got out His eyes hidden by dark glasses. He stretched for a moment then walked around opened the trunk and pulled out a large red gym bag. He walked up to the porch and set it down. He nodded at the children, turned and walked back to the car.

The children looked at each other. “That’s her staying bag.” one of the twins said. “She aint staying” said the other.

“Yes she is” the girl added, eyes wide with excitement. “She’s our mommy.”


Rick Schultze

A few years ago at a writers conference held in the central Oregon coast town of Yachats, where I live, I listened to the late Ken Kesey, a frequent visitor to the area, tell a writer that this could be a hard place to write. “If you think you can sit there staring at the ocean for inspiration you’re wrong, it’s not out there, it’s in your head!” He was right; it is beautiful here in Lincoln County, the kind of beauty that makes concentrating on anything else tough and since hearing that insight, I’ve written at a desk facing a wall, no windows opening onto a ocean view, although I have one, but it’s worked. I’ve done, and do, different kinds of writing. As a freelance writer I’ve been a observational columnist, a humor columnist, a book and music reviewer for newspapers, magazines, and online. However, as a creative writer, my heart belongs to fiction. In that genre I do short stories, road adventure stories, musical adventure tales, and in current production, are three small novels. So really the purpose of this web site is to give you a glance of some of the things I’ve done, a preview of what’s coming, and hopefully, a view of what it’s like to be a writer living in a small town on the Oregon coast!