I have amazing fans. I really do.

Some of them point out the stupid mistakes I make, saving me from eternal embarrassment and career-killing moves. I love them for it.

Some of them shower me with compliments like, “Wow, that made me cry.” Or, “Gosh, wouldn’t I love to see that on Netflix.” Or my favorite, “Are you okay? I mean, that was creepy. Are you okay?”

And I love them for it.

Some of them buy what I write. What a gift! I love them for it. Each and every one.

And a few folks gift me with the tangible. Notebooks. Pens. Unicorns… I love them for it. So much fun to grow the collections!


Edward and Phyllis—the perfect lifetime partners through thick and thin. When death takes Phyllis, Edward finds the perfect way to honor his dear wife’s memory.

Edward draped his tired arm over the back of the well-worn wooden bench. Many evenings he and Phyllis had spent here watching the sun dip below Lake Michigan’s rim. Sometimes in blazing summer heat. Sometimes in crisp fall air. Always together. Always with his left arm draped over the bench behind her shoulders. Her nestled into his side.


The seat beside him was empty for the first time since before the choppy lake shore grew to the attraction it now is. He and Phyllis courted here with a plaid wool blanket spread on the unkempt sand. A wicker picnic basket held whatever goodies Phyllis had baked.

He shook his head when he remembered the time she’d tricked him. Put the black snake—very much alive and very much angry—in the bottom of the basket. He’d shot up from the blanket, into the lake, and was halfway to Canada before his heart stopped racing. She’d laid back in the sand and guffawed at him. He’d come back to their lunch spot, dripping wet and not too trusting, only after the snake had retreated to the dunes. For the next ten picnics, he’d been the one to pack their basket.

Edward asked why she’d done it. She stretched her legs out, her blond hair falling across her shoulders, and blinked her blue eyes at him. “So, Edward, when I die, you’ll have a good story to tell at my funeral.” How young they’d been.

Thank you for hanging out for a bit. Check back on the first Monday of every

month for a free fictional short, and be sure to visit my Amazon page.

Copyright © 2020 by B.A. Paul.

All work is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictional, and any resemblance to

real people or incidents is purely coincidental. All work published on this site, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Beth's passion for writing started in grade school with an epic outer space adventure scribbled on 158 sheets of wide-ruled notebook paper with not-sharp-enough pencils. That manuscript was lost in a basement flood.

Thirty years, marriage, two kids and several dogs later, she's garnered enough story fodder to resurrect her passion—and this time she backs up her work!

She currently resides in Indiana with her family and a couple of meowing fur babies who enjoy walking across her keyboard.