Greg Beaubien's Blog
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Apr.16.2013
The snow was nearly a foot deep before they stepped outside. When she opened the door a white ledge had formed against it smooth and geometric, indented with the shape of the carved door, uneven on top with ripples and crusty edges that caught the electric light.
“I’m sorry we didn’t do this...
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Jan.21.2013
Bob was sitting with his legs crossed on one of the leather chairs at the fifth-floor landing for the escalators at 900 North Michigan, watching the small number of midafternoon weekday shoppers moving quietly through the mall. As he had for years he was wearing his little white bucket of a hat,...
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Oct.21.2011
(I wrote this story for Esquire Magazine's 78-word flash-fiction contest. They turned it down.)
Boy born in Minnesota, 1917. During Great Depression he survives on flour, rides rails. Goes to Italy in war, sleeps standing up. Wife leaves. Every Father’s Day he waits by phone; daughter never calls....
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Oct.07.2010
We were the only Americans on the bus as it wound along the road under the waterfalls. The windows were open and when the water hit the roof it made a loud drumming and some of it splashed inside. I was sitting by the window and my jeans were getting wet. Kelly was next to me but we hadn't spoken...
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About Greg
My first paying article, about a punk rock club, appeared in the Chicago Reader in 1988. Since then I have contributed features to a long list of newspapers and magazines, including the Los Angeles Times, the Chicago Tribune, and Travel & Leisure. A rags...
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