US Represented

Gary Walker

Gary Walker is a writer, teacher, peanut butter enthusiast, and musician who lives in Colorado. As J.G. Walker, he has had his fiction, nonfiction, and poetry featured in such publications as Flapperhouse, Calliope, Oracle Fine Arts Review, Lullwater Review, and Aoife’s Kiss. His poem “Garbage” was recently published in Constellations: A Journal of Poetry and Fiction, and his story "Placing Mr. T" is forthcoming in Down in the Dirt. He has been teaching composition, literature, and journalism at Pikes Peak Community College since 2012, and he may also currently be hard at work on a new collection of short stories titled Visitation: Stories of Death and Inconvenience. He's on Facebook as J.G. Walker, and on Twitter, he answers to @jgwalkr.

Nostalgia: Gazing at the Past through Now-Colored Glasses

“Our youth now love luxury. They have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for their elders and love chatter in place of exercise; they no longer rise when elders enter the room; they contradict their parents, chatter before company; gobble up their food and tyrannize their teachers”  – A quote occasionally attributed to Socrates […]

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What I Don’t Write (About): A Writing Mini-Manifesto from a “Southern” Writer

When I started writing fiction, I was told that, as a southerner, I’d been imbued with an appreciation for “my land” and “my people” and they therefore must be part of any story I set out to write. Imagine my confusion when I found that, despite reading vivid descriptions of endless varieties of red dirt,

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Teachers and Doers, or: Those Who Can Do May Also Do Teaching

Maybe you’ve heard the old saying about teachers not being competent enough to actually do the thing they’re teaching. After all, the logic goes, if someone is proficient at their craft, why would they forgo fame, acclaim, and the ability to purchase frighteningly expensive houses just to slum it as a teacher? The horror. I

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My Imaginary Funeral Blues (With Profuse Apologies to W.H. Auden)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. “Funeral Blues” – W.H Auden   Once, I heard someone say that if you want to get a firm handle on your true

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