http://slow.writerscafe.org/Macrory The original writings of author Macrory en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776101834 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15  Charlene’s car slid into the Fill’n Chill lot. She was glowering behind the wheel, doing all she could to make sure Donny knew she was not pleased they were stopping here. He knew, he also didn’t care. He flicked open the car door and slid out. As he was rounding the front .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/832700/    Orange juice and a cinnamon Danish, there was no more perfect a breakfast in all the world in Charlene’s opinion. She reserved it for Saturday mornings, partially because she didn’t like to rush through it on her way to work. Mostly because she was afraid eating it too oft.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/832697/    “Mr. O’connal!” A muffled but penetrating voice, along with a reverberating crack jarred Donny from his sleep. He sat up groggily and came to the realization he’d passed out in his chair last night. He brushed bread and chip crumbs from his shirt as he was comi.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/832693/    The Fill’n Chill is basically a suburban truck stop. Instead of selling truck flaps with naked chrome ladies on them they sell lattes and gallon size jugs of hand sanitizer. Oh and lots of those stainless steel insulated refillable mugs. Charlene called them Drunk Mugs because s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/832322/   They’d known each other for about five years, been together for the last two. He loved her, and wanted to ask her to marry him but could never find the words. He was one of the last of his class to be single and most of his married friends were f*****g miserable. He did not want to be m.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/832320/    Two hours after returning to work Donny’s coworkers watched him penguin walk, buttocks clenched, to the men’s room. Donny may not have paid for his lunch but he was still about to settle up.  He burst into the men’s room and in his haste to maintain the i.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/832319/ Just the beginning http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/832316/ This is Frat Lit and is mature in nature. It contains scads of rough language and it's content, while hopefully terribly funny, is also crude. Please if you are offended by such things do not read. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/832313/ “No time like the present” Skonch thought as he removed the eye patch. The sting was strong, but subsided quickly. By the time he had made his way through the mostly empty streets to the hall his sight had returned to normal. The blur faded and a dull headache took its place, but it was .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/831696/              “Thank you for sending for me, Jareb”. A woman’s voice filtered into Skonches ears, his wife’s, or rather ex-wife’s, voice. He managed to move his head slightly to the left and open his eyes. She w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/830833/ the beginning http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/830832/ A Fantasy book I have begun writing. Explores the topics of acceptance, love, loss, adventure, society and much more http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/830830/ A story inspired by a news report I saw a few years ago about how Iowa had become an unexpected hot bed for meth abuse and production. Also a story about redemption. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/829757/ A poem inspired by a strong feeling of loss http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/829231/ Believe it or not this started as a way to introduce myself to my new boss... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/828778/ Each night as I tucked my children into bed I would sing a silly song which always started the same but always ended differently... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/828773/ A note I left for my wife after a long night of disagreements and difficult conversations http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/828763/ After telling my son about how my dad and I used to collect crickets to feed some salamanders I had brought home from a creek as a child I was inspired to write the following poem for my father. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Macrory/828760/