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It’s been more than seven days since we last received a Juneau Empire paper. It’s been a week since the newspaper’s delivery person has driven by. We’ve called the newspaper office every morning but they never call back. Folks over near the high school haven’t received a paper for seven days, nor have our closer […]

In addition to being a wise and skilled fisherman, poet, novelist, and short story writer, Rich Chiapponne has helped a lot of MFA students learn how to craft their words. The University of Alaska Anchorage is shutting down his program.That hadn’t stop Rich from sharing out at least one more little writing lesson before turning

The Montana weatherman promised near-high temperatures today. It’s mid-afternoon. If Miss Weather were right, I’d be inside the old ranch house, adjusting every fan to cool down the inside air. The clink and click of ice in my water glass might just block the sound of buzzing mosquitos. Thankfully, today, the weatherman is wrong. Rather

Rich Chiappone’s new book, The Hunger of Crows, will be published in November and is available now for pre-order. For the long-time Alaska writer, it represents a distinct swerve from realism into a more commercial style of thriller, albeit with literary dimensions. Beginning three years ago, I started to make the same mid-life turn toward

In 2015, JT Torres was teaching developmental writing at the University of Alaska, Anchorage. The prior two years, he had lived in Colorado and Georgia alone while his girlfriend finished nursing school in Florida. Torres’ university contract was scheduled to end in May of that year. His lover had committed to serve Alaska Regional Hospital for two

It’s going to rain in Juneau on Memorial Day. It will rain the entire weekend. That won’t stop our local Toyota dealer from offering holiday discounts on cars sales or prevent the Home Depo or Fred Meyers from advertising Memorial Day price cuts. Rain won’t discourage families who were quick enough to reserve a shelter

This blogpost originally appeared, in a different version, in 2015. But I’ve retrieved and adapted it here because I just talked to my agent today about a novel I’ll be revising—dramatically—creating major POV and plot changes from at least the midpoint, an entire cascade of changes that promises to occupy me for two months, and

I still haven’t taken a shower this rainy May morning. The coffee that I usually finish while it is still hot, has gone cold. Instead of making a new cup of Java, I stare out the window, watching heavy rain drops slam into a puddle on our driveway. Then I re-read “A Month Alone,” one

Stampede In the Summer of 1980, when I was 29 and the love of my life was studying photography in Sweden, I got a call from a law school buddy named Dave Diver. It was winter when he called. Cold and windy in Bethel where I lived. Colder in Fairbanks, where he served the U.S.