Articles written by Mark Rittmann

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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 > Short Stories Short stories: Death of a loved one: 1 of 80

Anniversary The sun came up like a rose. Anticipating a cold gray Minnesota morning where the day opens in pain, and Ben was unsettled by the opposite. The morning air carried a chill but no frost. He stood on the wooden deck breathing in the cool air as daises and peonies stared up from the garden below at his bare, winter ...
Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Death of a pet: 2 of 61

Living Alone I 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 backy...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Lust: 10 of 303

Desire we embrace the river as it flows ten thousand years are carried along in its genetic memory it crashes against history and falls against earthworks created contrived designed to inhibit the flow it roars in objection and beats against the rocks an irresistible primordial force that resonates with something we don't un...
Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Death of a sibling: 1 of 17

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 ...
Creative Writing > Reflections Reflections: September 11, 2001 and beyond: 4 of 51

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...
Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Growing up: 6 of 66

Penguins The 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 the...
Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: Childhood memories: 30 of 292

The Kitchen Table My 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 busin...
Creative Writing > Memoirs Memoirs: High school: 5 of 29

MY CAR?! . "Your mom's all right," it was Sue speaking from her second story back porch. "What?" I answered. "Your mom, she's OK," she said. "What do you mean?" I asked. "I mean, she wasn't hurt or anything." "What are you talking about?" "The fire!" Sue answered. "What fire?" "In your car!" "MY CAR?" It was a 1960 Chevrolet...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Angels: 17 of 81

The Garden Things were fine. I was content, finally, digging in the dirt of the garden. I hadn't seen Jeb in eons or so it seemed, when he showed up one lazy afternoon looking very tired. His familiar voice awakened me from my somnambulant prodding of the dirt. "So then, I take it the knees and lower back are completely heal...
Creative Writing > Humor Humor: Bad days: 14 of 52

A Bad Day So 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 pia...