Château d’Orquevaux International Artists and Writers Residence
July 22, 2025 9:18 pm Leave your thoughtsI was a writing resident at a 2025 Château d’Orquevaux International Artists and Writers Residence in Orquevaux, France.
Charles G. Thompson's fiction has appeared in the Chicago Tribune, The Maine Review, Reunion: The Dallas Review, Cowboy Jamboree, and STORGY Magazine, among others. His fiction has been anthologized. He was also nominated for a Pushcart Prize. He lives in Los Angeles, California.
I was a writing resident at a 2025 Château d’Orquevaux International Artists and Writers Residence in Orquevaux, France.
I have written and published a number of nonfiction pieces. A personal essay about seeing my dead father shopping at Trader Joes. Another essay about my love life as a gay man in Los Angeles. An article about how my perpetual depression lessened during COVID. But, until recently, I had not tried my hand to write an op-ed. Yes, similar to writing more personal nonfiction, but different. https://tinyurl.com/yc7vy4ac
Californians are used to seeing end-times headlines about our dwindling water supply. A recent one reported that Lake Mead, the largest reservoir in the U.S., could be a “dead pool” in two years. It’s a frightening prospect even with our recent slate of winter storms. While those add to our shrinking reservoirs, groundwater and snowpack, it won’t be enough to solve our drought problem — and it comes with disaster. https://tinyurl.com/4z4zhz6e
After working in the entertainment industry for 25 years and taking a Covid-forced break from searching for work, I recently started looking for steady employment. The job site Indeed reports that the average length of a job search is 20 weeks. I’m now about one-fourth of the way through those 5 months. https://tinyurl.com/8cwz4fhp
Wednesday, September 22, 2021 7 – 8 pm EST $25 (or free for Paragraph members) All levels Registration: https://tinyurl.com/bf2azthc
I’m five, and it’s 1964. My little sister and I are watching Saturday morning cartoons in our suburban California living room. It’s so early that the room is still darkened against the arriving day. The floor to ceiling drapes across the sliding glass door remain closed. The moving images flash colored light around the room and bounce off us. A blue hue permeates. It’s there whenever the television is on. It washes over us, a protective friend for children in need. https://tinyurl.com/4ddeavrx
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