Dan J. Fiore

Fiore Story Works LLC | Creative Concepts + Narrative-Driven Content

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New Fiction by Dan J. Fiore:

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Finally got around to making this happen. Pretty stoked. #active

With its razor-sharp dialogue and narcotic glee for the unexpected, you could consider this southern psycho-noir of college town debauchery a propulsive, brisk read. But dubbing it as such would betray the pages upon pages of slow-cooked prose, so rich, acidic, and skillfully kicked-up it should be drizzled on brisket. If you love complex low-life lit and are in need of your next fix, @reverenderyk might just be the connection (or cult leader) you’ve been looking for.

This is kind of what my driveway looks like right now. ❄️🎄⛸ . . . Downtown 12.24.2018

Rivers and wreckage. . . . North Side 01.13.2019

Aim upward, anchors be damned. . . . 📷 Spring Hill - 01.13.2019

I have many peaceful memories of the tiny, hand-built house tucked back behind the hills and thickets of Lincoln Borough. Wandering the fields with my cousins. Feeding the horses next door. Playing board games I barely understood on the living room floor. But I’ve come to appreciate over the years that life in this little valley wasn’t always so calm and care-free. She lived her whole life down there. A long life of 96 years. From cold winters and the Great Depression to great wars and the scars they sent home... Peace, I’m sure, wasn’t a luxury she was frequently allowed. She had four kids to raise, after all. But the strength, positivity, and abundant love this woman showed to the very end, no matter what life threw at her, will never cease to amaze and inspire me. The world lost a truly special soul this week. We’ll miss you, Grandma, and wish you all the peace you so rightfully deserve.

Smoked Salmon #TraegerFeast

Smoked Shrimp Ceviche #TraegerFeast #CevicheNavidad

During Prohibition, Mexican proprietors built bars that straddled the border in Nogales so Americans could walk in, cross the room, and enjoy a drink. Sometimes this story makes me smile. But more often, when I remember standing in the shadow of that steel fence on the very street where notions of border barriers first became real (at the behest of the Mexican government, interestingly), when I remember walking along the dense sprawl of proud businesses and individuals haggling with visitors day after day to survive against the weakening peso, when I remember drinking with kind, hardworking folks from the other side of that fence who would still unhesitatingly offer to pay an American’s bar tab, it only makes me sad.

There’s a gorges/gorgeous pun to be made here somewhere. Gimme a minute. #sunsethearthands

Allegedly, the most common injury at the Grand Canyon is squirrel bites. (Don’t feed the wildlife, people.) But nothing leaves its mark on you quite like witnessing the ancient gorge cling as long as it can to that final slice of another sunset, like the lonelier of two perfect lovers cursed to so briefly and brilliantly meet only to part each evening for all eternity.

Bursts of sudden rainfall rush down into tight slot canyons, whirl-pooling at incredible speeds to carve over many years these otherworldly passages and pockets in the rock. Of all the elemental forces of nature, water might be the most devastating artist.

Already missing those desert days...

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