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Volume 36 | Issue 2 | 2022

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Featured Excerpt

From "Doris's Dance" (p. 39)

by Clay Reynolds

   Although they were more than modestly comfortable, when he looked back on his life, it seemed to be littered with the ruins of missed opportunities that might have made him rich, maybe even famous. That occasionally made him sad, but he also believed that there was solace in anonymity, a comfortable ease in being no more than a participant. “Somebody has to lose,” he sometimes told her. “Otherwise, winning means nothing.” At the same time, he consciously sublimated his regrets. He wasn’t uncomfortable, unhappy, discontent. He just wasn’t comfortable, happy, or content. And that was all right. Those things came with responsibilities, to say nothing of a need to protect them, a fear of losing them. If you never had them, there was nothing to worry about. He was, he sometimes said, unregretful. He hadn’t done much, he admitted. But he had nothing to apologize for. “Pitifully average,” he once put down in response to a question about self-description on a questionnaire Jillian gave him to fill out, something she found in a magazine, he guessed. That annoyed her, but he felt it was on the money. Time, he believed, provided a kind of soothing amnesia. It also gave him an ability to numb himself against recrimination unless he was pricked too deeply. 

About Concho River Review

Begun by novelist and short-story writer Dr. Terry Dalrymple in 1987, Concho River Review is a biannual literary journal published by the Department of English and Modern Languages at Angelo State University. Since its inception, CRR has prided itself on publishing some of the finest short fiction, nonfiction, and poetry from both emerging and established authors. Although originally designed as a forum for Texas writers, over the years its reach and interests have extended well beyond Texas and the Southwest.