This event takes place Sunday, 9/27/2026 at 2 pm PST/5 pm ET.

You latch on hard, quick, for your nightly feeding. P tries to distract me while he brushes his teeth. Pokes fun at my dramatics. “Finally putting that theatre degree to use,” he says as he creases…

Cacti growing in the bowling alley. Honky-tonk playing on a PA system that’s so weak it sounds like the music is coming from some distant shore. All this set amongst sunshine of drifting dust. A ma…

There’s a very small woman who lives in my ductwork. I’ve seen her bright pinprick eyes between the vent panels tracking me as I do Youtube yoga in my living room. I pretend I don’t see her. For he…

My husband is building a spacecraft in our garage. An actual spacecraft from RYMDFARTYG, IKEA’s troubled cousin. Seventeen flat-pack boxes. 847 steps. The neighbor’s dog won’t stop barking at it. S…

The scream of the alarms can be heard for two city blocks. So we flee our apartments, those boxes that stack atop one another like Legos. Eleven stories in total. We flee our apartments grumbling a…

She came childless. Amongst our clutter on the concrete bench, she sat with her designer tote bag. A blue shark hooded towel and a rainbow bottle peeked out. We watched her watch the pool, the skin…

Our parents didn’t believe in the Easter bunny. They said it wasn’t the real story. And instead of us kids chowing down on chocolate eggs we were in the chook shed grading the real ones. Pick…

Eric Scot Tryon is a writer from San Francisco. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Glimmer Train, Willow Springs, and elsewhere.

Author Eric Scot Tryon joins Daniel Ford on the show to chat about his debut novel I'm the Undertow.

Writer's Bone · Episode

Our first place is near the airport. We sit on the balcony some evenings and watch the planes rip into the sky. The space fits two folding chairs so close our knees touch. Flying makes me anxious b…

On Friday I’ll move. On Saturday I’ll get a new job. On Sunday I’ll find a new husband. On Monday I’ll move. On Tuesday I’ll get another job. On Wednesday I’ll decide I don’t want a husband. On Thu…

So excited to have a new story in @trampset , a dream publication for me! I hope you will give it a read: https://t.co/32ze1nHzsg

I wait until the last possible second to bother him about the splinter. He needs his rest, and my discomfort is so trivial. But it is wedged in my heel, a place where I can’t contort my body …

Rosie Finger talked about nature versus nurture, about which one decides the course we take through life. She thought they played equal roles, that the way we were raised and the parts we were born…

After our results came back, we took a spliff down to the beach to wait for the blood moon, but it was cloudy so all that happened was a hellish glow and some ratcheting paranoia. I was already in …

The goldfinch hit the kitchen window with a knock so dull and hollow we thought, briefly, that someone had come to the door. We went out. The bird was on the patio brick, lying on its side, its yel…

Tim and Art welcome acclaimed writer and editor Eric Scot Tryon (https://ericscottryon.com/) to the corner booth to talk about his writing process, his new novel I'm The Undertow…

Some refer to my death as a certainty, using words like remembrance and memoriam. Others talk about me like I’m still here, chumming around at my old home bar, The Spokenfore. My buddy Elliot buys …

Alt: Four old-timey ghosts playing musical instruments

The North Platte River was nearly dry, long sand banks exposed. She watched a guy in a Funyuns T-shirt eating Cheetos gas up his Penske. Passing a semi, her husband pointed at the words Isaiah 50:3…

Sammy stands atop his mattress, arms-crossed, chin-out, and declares he’s not tired, “not even a yittle bit.” It sounds cute but it’s 10:23pm and we’ve been here an hour, and egg-free/dairy-free/gl…

After the divorce, the first one appeared between the salad forks. I had opened the cutlery drawer looking for something ordinary to do with my hands. It was late. The kitchen light was the wrong k…