• About Chuck Twardy

    Chuck Twardy is a writer and an instructor in the School of Communication at East Carolina University.

    http://www.chucktwardy.com

    I Got the Swing State Blues

    by  • July 26, 2012 • Commentary • 0 Comments

    Oh, the joys of living in a swing state. I have pretty much given up watching television because every other commercial is a presidential campaign attack ad. And there’s still four months to go. I knew North Carolina was “in play,” as the politicos like to say — we went for Obama by a...

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    Going positive

    by  • July 23, 2012 • Commentary • 1 Comment

    How many people have to die to suspend a presidential campaign for a day? Seriously – had, say, only eight persons died in the Aurora shooting, would the candidates have shut down their campaigns? What about five? I ask similar questions of my Basic Reporting students: Suppose Al Qaeda had quietly murdered 3,000 people...

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    Second Course

    by  • July 17, 2012 • Fiction • 0 Comments

    Since Eve’s death Clint was The Couples’ Scourge. He’d have dodged the rap gladly, but he couldn’t cook. Eve had been equally kitchen-innocent, and they’d dined out all the time, squandering pairs of empty chairs at four-seat tables for more than forty years. Ah, but how crucial that third seat could be. He was...

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    Berlin

    by  • July 16, 2012 • Fiction • 0 Comments

    Castor arrived at Pass Controle in the vanguard of the Dulles flight. For a moment, he refused to accept it as his destination. The other passengers also halted. In the broad, low-ceilinged, gray and yellow space, bathed in baleful fluorescence, humanity without European Union passports ebbed, all ages, shapes and shades from beige to...

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    Maggie

    by  • July 16, 2012 • Fiction • 0 Comments

    In the hallway between the bathroom and the dining hall, Maggie stopped. Bodylong memory flare. Maybe the pills the nurse at the clinic had given her — she’d just taken one with the sweet tea. She’d turned to look into the kitchen and something about the lead gray of the wash tub, the array...

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    Buchenwald Weather

    by  • July 16, 2012 • Fiction • 0 Comments

    The sky darkens as the train rolls drearily eastward, past abandoned factories, along sooty station platforms; desuetude striated by rain. A speaker crackles with the approach of Weimar. He downs the last of his beer and leaves. I slip Uncle Oskar from the rear of my book to the open page. We step simultaneously...

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    Where were we?

    by  • June 27, 2012 • Commentary • 0 Comments

    OK, I’m back. Thanks for waiting. When I left Las Vegas almost six years ago, I shut down The Ante-room, which I had run through an ISP Web page, with intentions of ramping it up when settled in North Carolina. Then teaching happened. I taught a feature writing class at UNLV, then found steady...

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