When Is a Tavern Not a Tavern?

Lefty’s Tavern in my newest collection of short stories becomes a church on Sunday mornings. That’s why, in a creative moment, I named the collection, Lefty’s Tavernacle (if you don’t get the play on “tabernacle,” it might be time to go back to school–or church).

Lefty's Cover smBased loosely, VERY loosely, on the fishing village where I grew up, the stories all center around Lefty’s Tavern.  Like the real-life Red’s Tavern–my father’s place– it is the only tavern in town.  So if you want the news, want to drink, or want to pick a fight, Lefty’s is the place to go.  Since there is no other building large enough to house the growing parish, Lefty has kindly opened it on Sunday mornings to Reverend Turkington.

The 20 stories in the book have a bunch of colorful characters, a lot of action, some humor, and a few serious moments. I sat with a number of my Oregon relatives over the years to gather similar stories about Charleston, Oregon, the little town I grew up in.  Then I dumped them all into a large shrimp pot, stirred them up, and poured out stories filled with drunks, Indians, fishermen, loggers (some fit all categories) and their families.

If you get a chance to read it, I’d welcome your thoughts.  It, and my previous two novels, With Which the Waters Swarm and The Ages of Oosig are all available on Amazon and other online book stores.

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