Copperfield Review's Blog, page 17
November 7, 2016
Sons of Jonah
By Judith Joubert Twelve year-old Diego ran past the men and dipped below the hatch before anyone saw him. The gun deck was darker than he remembered. The animal fat candles in the lamps cast a smaller light, and the … Continue reading →
A Lesson from the Life of Mary Boykin Chesnut
By Philip Hanson I am always studying these creatures. They are to me inscrutable in their ways and past finding out. Mary Chesnut’s Civil War … Continue reading →
Hermanos
By Riley Lewis The night was as quiet as it ever got on the open ocean. The ship creaked intermittently, and the wind and waves never completely stopped, but to one accustomed to life at sea, the night was essentially … Continue reading →
Ami Maxine Irmen
October 8, 1871 Peshtigo, WI We hid in the pond the night that fire fell from the sky like rain. The smoke that hung over the water was so thick the foghorns had been blowing for three days straight, trying … Continue reading →
Letter addressed to W.M.Thackeray from Charles Dickens
By Christopher Hall and Jess Mookherjee 24th March 1858 My Dear Thackeray What good fortune it was to stumble so gamely into your company at the club last Thursday. I pondered so intensely on the nature of our meeting and mused that … Continue reading →
August 12, 2016
Donna Russo Morin
Donna Russo Morin is a talented author of historical fiction, and she’s been a friend of The Copperfield Review’s for several years. Here’s my latest interview with Donna where she fills us in about her newest project, the historical novel Portrait of … Continue reading →
July 30, 2016
Researching Historical Fiction: The Victorian Era
I have an odd habit of choosing to write historical fiction set in eras I know little to nothing about. I came up with story ideas about the Salem Witch Trials, the Trail of Tears, Biblical Jerusalem, New York City … Continue reading →
July 28, 2016
Randy Koch
The Garrote —Diego de Almagro; 8 July 1538; Cuzco, Peru; in the presence of Hernando Pizarro, soldiers, a priest, and the executioner Yes, Hernando, I’m through begging. I only regret that trusting you and Gonzalo—out of respect for Francisco— saved you … Continue reading →
Lillian King
The Ghosts of Paris There is a line drawn across the throat of the boy who walks the streets of Paris, feet padding jagged stone and packed soil, his soles caked black with dirt. If I reached out I … Continue reading →
A. S. Ford
Minors Carbon-dust, smeared body paint small, skeletal bodies; pale, leaning on the pony carts, hunched over. Earth crumbles under metal claws as they listen to the canary’s song and prepare for the stampede if the tune … Continue reading →
