Jerry Brickley is a graduate of Butler University with an MFA degree in creative writing. His work has been featured in Snowy Egret, the oldest independent U. S. journal of nature writing and The Shootist, the magazine of the National Congress of Western Shooters. Jerry is a prose writer who works in both creative nonfiction and fiction. His primary focus of late has been in the area of historical fiction.
Jerry taught English and Creative Writing at Carmel High School in Carmel, Indiana for twenty-seven years. He is semi-retired, teaching as an adjunct instructor at a local college in Indianapolis. He is also a living history re-enactor, a hobby which has lent itself to much of his writing. He re-enacts in the French & Indian War period. His Celtic Folk band plays at Civil War events. And he is a cowboy action shooter. He is also an avid sailor and lives in Clermont, Indiana with his wife Wendy.
The Story of Kid Hagan
It was a hot July day in Fort Smith. Few people were willing to brave the heat, but there were still people in the street going about their business. Many hid from the sun wherever they could; under canvas verandas, or at the back of buildings or in the slightly cooler saloons and gambling parlors. Out behind the stockyards, three young men were having fun shooting cans and bottles off the fence posts. They were young cow punchers who had just ambled into town looking for something to do. As one of the men fired again, he heard a voice behind him. “Hey, how you boys doing?” Read the full story HERE>>
Fight at Seven Devils
Hector Thibodeau lazed, half asleep, in his bed while his wife, Sarah, worked steadily at the stove. It was a crisp morning in late October and the smell of fresh biscuits drifted to the Marshal’s nose. He opened his eyes while still enjoying the warmth beneath the wool blankets. As he stared at the ceiling of his cabin, he noticed something. “Ah hell,” he muttered. He rolled out from under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sarah, someone’s coming to the door.” Read the full story HERE>>
The Widow’s Cave
The sunset blazed blood red above the rugged hills of the Choctaw nation. Heck Thibodeau stood with a deep October chill in his face. He pulled the brim of his hat lower and turned up the sheepskin collar of his coat. “Nights are going to start getting crisp, Banjo. Looks like we might be getting some weather soon. We’d better find a place to hunker down.” The bay gelding nuzzled the back of his master’s coat. Heck led his horse back into the trees, picking his way carefully. Read the full story HERE>>