Category: Fiction

Fiction is one of the most beloved features in each issue of Liguorian with a variety of subject matter that appeals to readers. Fiction authors frequently garner awards from the Catholic Press Association, with the latest first-place awarded to Fr. Byron Miller, CSsR for his work, Remoulade & Ramos: A Love Story to New Orleans, now available as a booklet from Liguori Publications.

Father Center Field

Our new parish priest was lean but muscular, with silver hair juxtaposed against a leathery, sun-tanned face. Perched on the steps of the church rectory, his dark-as-polished-pinewood eyes squinted into the July sun as he watched me, Minuto, a lad of fifteen, pinch-faced and wiry, with strands of pitch-black hair...

A Life Wonderfully Lived

Joe Haack As he lays dying, Thomas’ doubts about god face a stranger. I sit alone on a hospital bed with only my thoughts to keep me company—company that leaves much to be desired. I had just received the news I had dreadfully been expecting for the past six months…my...

Don't Sit On the Torpedo

“Don’t Sit on the Torpedo!”

By Richard C. Lukas Recalling a courageous priest and the dogs of war that washed onto an American shore during WWII Mike sat with his wife, Marita, on the balcony of their condominium overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and reminisced about their childhood. Marita reminded him with a touch of envy,...

New Orleans, LA

Remoulade & Ramos: A Love Story to New Orleans

Celebrate a city of culture and diversity with a rich history and deep faith. In 2018, New Orleans celebrates its tricentennial year. Liguorian’s award-winning fiction piece Remoulade and Ramos is a tale told by Louisiana native, Byron Miller, CSsR that skillfully weaves a young man’s rite of passage in with...

The Comforts of Home

Steve didn’t want to check on Aunt Liz while his wife was away, but a promise was a promise. This one became more than he bargained for. Remember your promise!” Cathy said as Steve handed his wife her carry-on bag and gave her a quick kiss before she headed to...

Madonna in Lavender

The Christmas gathering was their annual attempt to foster family warmth and congeniality that seemed mysteriously elusive. It would be safe to say that when the three Parnsley families gathered for the Christmas season, the result wasn’t likely to generate material for a heartwarming Hallmark Channel special. At least…never mind....

“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home…”

In this life, we see only fragments of God’s plan. God sees the whole of his creation, and it is good. Holding nine-day-old baby Peter, my daughter Sharla lingered with me at the table in her Chicago town-home kitchen. Her husband, David, washed lunch remainders from three-year-old Michael’s face. The...

The Grocery Nuisance

The man was irritating, Clara thought as she put canvas bags of groceries into the cart she kept in her trunk. When she was thinking about buying a condo at this location, she had asked if it had a nice-sized pantry. “The pantry is huge, Mrs. Geraghty,” the real estate...

The Nights the Parents Played

By Ronica Stromberg That day I had been attacked by a pack of rabid wolves, held at gunpoint by a mad cowboy, stabbed by a samurai, and dive-bombed by a deranged dictator. I couldn’t be more bored. I tossed aside my game controller and said to Sam and Liz, “Let’s...

A Monster Fishing Trip

He picked a great time of year to fish—a warm day in late fall. But could he tackle the real catch of the day? “OK, we’re done here. Thank you, all. ” As soon as the vice president left the room, the others followed like ducklings. Tom turned to Rob...

A New Mourning

 January 2012

Five-year-old Amy anxiously asked, “Is my mother here?”

“Amy, how nice to see you!” exclaimed Mrs. Murphy. “Won’t you come in and visit for a while?”

Amy’s big brown eyes darted past Mrs. Murphy and peered into her parlor, hoping to see another person there. Disappointed, she answered, “No, thank you, Mrs. Murphy. I’m just looking for my mother. I know she sometimes stops here on her way home from shopping.”

What do I say to this child? Mrs. Murphy asked herself, turning a little pale. Then, regaining her composure, she said, “Amy, please come in for a minute. I just happen to have some gingerbread cookies! How about having some milk and cookies with me?” tempted Mrs. Murphy as she remembered the last time she had seen Amy. 


Trees Must Bend


Kate tore the letter open eagerly. Letters from Dan were few and far between. Her eyes scanned the page in one fell swoop, looking for danger. Then her face relaxed and she went back to read for details. Kate always read letters from her children that way. She supposed all mothers did. It was the same way she looked her children over on the first meeting after a long separation. The kids called it “Mom’s assessment.” They joked about it, but they knew better than to try to hide anything from Mom.

Kate read as intently as she listened; picking up clues, probing for more. Letters, thought Kate, are very unsatisfactory, and she went back and reread the brief letter once more. Her face was troubled when she finally laid the letter down on the table in front of her. I have to show this to Ben, she thought. It’s not right to keep Dan’s letters from him. He loves Dan just as I do, and I would never forgive him if he kept a letter from me. 

But Dan’s letters were becoming increasing foreign to both of them.