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About me - Mark Rittmann

Married, I live with my wife, Karen, and two kids, Julie (9) and Erich (7). Our home is in NW MN in the Red River Valley, 60 miles from the Canadian border.

When not writing I serve as an interim pastor in the ELCA, currently serving the NW MN Synod in Warren,

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Creative Writing > Reflections Reflections: September 11, 2001 and beyond
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My daughter Julie is happily eating her favorite breakfast of a "cheesy" egg, toast, and jam, and one link of sausage when the phone rings. The theme song from the kids' show "Arthur" plays in the background, its modest reggae beat lifting the song: "Hey, what a wonderful time of day, to learn to work and play, and get along ... More..

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Lust
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Desirewe embrace the river as it flowsten thousand yearsare carried alongin its genetic memoryit crashes against historyand falls against earthworkscreatedcontriveddesignedto inhibit the flowit roars in objectionand beats against the rocksan irresistible primordial forcethat resonateswith somethingwe don't understandthrills u... More..

Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Growing up
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PenguinsThe three boys were lined up single file on the school yard pavement. Their arms were rigid at their sides, Their eyes looked straight ahead. One by one they moved stiff legged across the playground, waddling as they went. They gathered speed near the tether ball ring, tottering from side to side. "EEK-EEK" went their... More..

Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Death of a sibling
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Roger It has been 17 1/2 years since he died. Saturday afternoon I was cleaning out my personal junk drawer, the top drawer of my dresser, which collects everything, I don't want to throw away, when I came across his photo; such a handsome young man. How much I wanted to be like him. Not consciously of course, I would never h... More..

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Sensuality
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There are times when roles and dutiesthreaten to choke off the breath of lifewhen to remain calm and stableis to gasp for air as your tongue swells in your throatAt those times I would rundangle my feet in cool water roll down hillscovered with native grasses and fill my lungswith the sharp sweetness of lilacs in bloomI want ... More..

Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: End of the world
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PostmortemI watch with horror the network satellite feed on the mounting holocaust. It's November 16th, 1999 and the SKYCAM captures the chaotic panoramic beauty of the Bronx ablaze. Without commentary the images record the running battle between the tribes: Roman Catholic Puerto Ricans and Santeria Haitians. A coalition of w... More..

Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Death of a pet
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Living AloneI can't remember not being alone. I'm thinking back now, into my early childhood and my first memory is of kissing a neighbor girl. I was five years old. There was nothing sexual about it. I wasn't a particularly precocious child. I just remember walking hand in hand with her to where my mother was, in the backyar... More..

Creative Writing > Humor Humor: Bad days
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A Bad DaySo I walk into the bar. It's pleasantly dark and refreshingly cool on a hot July afternoon. I'm not looking for trouble, I'm looking for a beer. I order a Molson's tap when I notice what looks to be a miniature mechanical piano player at the far end of the bar."What's that?" I asked the barkeep."A twelve inch piano p... More..

Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Childhood memories
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The Kitchen TableMy mother is going to teach me a lesson I'll never forget. So I sit petulant at the kitchen table waiting for class to begin. My brother Roger, who is almost five years older than me, is standing behind my mother in the archway leading into the dining room. He is trying to be serious because mom means busines... More..

Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Domestic violence
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Skandalon He was at a prison camp, like those he had seen in World War II documentaries. The prisoners were of mixed heritage, hermaphrodites and males. Carl was dressed in a cassock and surplice giving comfort to a grossly fat man. The fat man consumed the contents of the ciborium and washed it down by emptying the flagon in... More..

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