Miriam, in “The Betrothal,” is looking for Zoe, who’s escaped to Ephesus to avoid being betrothed to her father’s old friend. Perhaps she’s gotten a job in a fullery, a workshop that provides dry cleaning services. The workers, usually slaves, use vats of urine, which, due to its ammonia content, acts as a powerful cleaning agent. They would stomp on the clothes in the vats and beat them with sticks to remove the dirt. Miriam enters one such fullery:   As my eyes adjusted to

June shares her inspiration behind Miriam bat Isaac, discusses balancing history with fiction, and explores how figurative language and vivid details bring ancient Alexandria to life. To read the interview, just click here .

In the literary world, a red herring is anything that can be seen as a misleading or false clue. It is a common technique used in mysteries and thrillers to send readers down a false path or distract them from the real culprit.   I will not give away the red herrings in my own stories. They are for the astute reader to identify, but I can give you some examples from well-known stories:   In Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express , multiple characters provide conflicti

Chekhov’s Gun is the narrative principle that every element in a story must be necessary and relevant. Whether a gun, rifle, or cleaver, it becomes a promise to the audience that it will contribute to the story. The principle of Chekov’s Gun reminds writers to make their prose strong by avoiding unnecessary words.   In my story, “The Betrothal,” published in Black Sheep: Unique Tales of Terror and Wonder (February 2025), Miriam has been hired to find Zoe, a young woman who d

“Ma Zeus!” cursed Amara. More expletives tumbled out of her mouth in a high-pitched stream of bile. “And where’s that wretch? I’m bleeding all over, and that cripple is nowhere in sight.” When the boy hobbled over, she scorched him with enough profanity to parch the air. “You good-for-nothing idiot! See what you’ve done! I’ve cut my hand sharpening this stupid pen while waiting for the ones you should have brought. Now get me some honey. And  don’t forget the ox fat and lint

It started on that sweltering day in June three years ago when he drove past in his red Chevy C10 Fleetside, his square, stubble-smudged jaw and deep cleft chin hanging out the window. And then the squeak of his brakes, the honk of his horn, and his sun-bronzed forearm beckoned me, the twists of damp hair crawling outa his tank-T. “Come ’ere, gorgeous.” His voice was slow and thick like honey. “Looks like you need a ride and a drink.” Or did he say a drink and a ride? But it

Miriam is in Ephesus about to have lunch: Recalling a cookshop around the corner near the Terrace Houses, I headed there first. At its marble-topped counter opening onto the sidewalk, I placed a take-out order: some cheese, pita, and figs wrapped in a linen sleeve and an amphora of honey-sweetened water. While threading around peddlers and beggars to return to the inn, one hand dipping into the linen sleeve to sample the figs, I saw the Memmius Monument farther down Curetes

June’s story “The Question” has just been published in  COMMUTERLIT MAGAZINE, a digital magazine. The magazine is published as an ezine...

Pankration, as practiced in antiquity, was an athletic event that combined techniques of both boxing and wrestling as well as additional...