Welcome to The Porch Stories.  What you will find here are tales spun from the angst of adult life among people who rarely share my view on things.  Fortunately I have found, and married, a woman who not only sees the world and its inhabitants very much the way I do but encourages my reflections.

Naturally I have a day job which is actually a night job.  Grave shift in a casino produces creative fiction of a harsh and resentful nature.  Some of the stories you’ll read (like the first one) are hateful expulsions against the selfish nature of various members of the human species.  I learned too well the lesson that hate spawns more hate.  In an effort to purge myself of the need to hate back I have begun writing fictional accounts of many of the more colorful experiences.  Doing this has the effect of relieving the pressure on my emotional boiler and allows me to return to my job with a clearer head and spirit.

Overall, my fiction is based very strongly on the fact that I don’t like most of the people I come into contact with.  People suck.  The way we behave in our everyday life as we gravitate around each other is absolutely ridiculous.  We are unnecessarily rude to each other; we are overly aggressive; very few of us see any reason to suppress our selfish actions and will say whatever comes into our heads.  Capturing this behavior makes for some interesting writing experiences for me.

As for the name of the blog, The Porch Stories is a small shout out to one of my wife’s pets, a small rescue ferret that we refer to as Possum Child.  At some point this poor creature spent a few days on someone’s porch, in her carrier, without proper food or water.  As ferrets are quite small the damage of dehydration is fast and dramatic.  Possum Child’s tail is mostly hairless and rather rodent like in appearance and feel.  Her hair is coarse and not pleasant to touch.  Her social skills are erratic and very vocal with the other two ferrets in residence.  My wife and I are very conscious of the distinct personalities of all our pets and think nothing of giving them voices according to their needs.  We’re thoughtful like that.  Possum Child has become the Charles Manson of the group, a one-time cult leader who lacks a following because she is too strange for anyone to identify with.  Her ramblings include multiple references to her time spent on The Porch, a place that has become a source of spiritual cleanliness to her.  The Porch has become her God.  I can easily picture Possum Child wearing a sign around her neck stating “The End Is Nigh!  The Porch Is Coming!”