William Kosman Fiction

  Fellow Fiction Lovers: Here's the Media Release I sent out a few days ago to let reporters know about my new blog and on-line novel - "It Hurts to Say Goodbye": MEDIA RELEASE                                 Contact: Bill Kosman                                                                  billkosman@gmail.com  For Immediate Release  PHILADELPHIA PAINTER PRESENTS INTERNET BLOG FOR HIS NOVELS PHILADELPHIA, PA – Painter William Kosman today announced a new internet blog – kosmanfiction.blogspot.com – to present his novels to readers, and he introduced his novel, “It Hurts to Say Goodbye,” a murder-mystery that takes place in Philadelphia’s poetry scene. Kosman plans to present several chapters per week.  Presenting his ...

  Chapter Four  It Hurts to Say Goodbye  Dimitri Orlov was a hulk of a man at six-foot-four and nearly two hundred and forty pounds, and he had a fiery temper. This afternoon, Orlov – known as Dima by his friends – exploded. He grabbed the wrist of his old friend and second-in-command, Kasbar Sargsyan, and pulled him toward the large pot of a boiling liquid atop the gas stove.        Sargsyan, called Kaspar by friends and business associates alike, twisted his body, dragged his feet and tried to struggle free.        “Surb Hisus, what’re you doing? Stop, you crazy or what? Holy Jesus!” Kaspar’s shouts echoed off the walls of the four hundred square-foot art studio. “Dima, what’re you doing? You gone crazy?”        Orlov was attempting to lift Kaspar up, off the floor in front of the stove. “Shut the fuck up,” Orlov hissed, his mouth twisted into a snarl. “Show you what cowards get.” His face was turning a blotchy...

  "It Hurts to Say Goodbye"  Chapter Three – El Siegel  I had a dream last night.        I remember it as separate scenes, flashes of people and color and feelings, pieces that weren’t woven into a clear, simple tale. I remember I could travel back in time. I held Faith in my arms, my hands caressing her dark hair, then my fingers touching the softness of her cheek, feeling each other’s warmth.         The dream was short, and it seemed real. Somehow Faith knew I had returned to the past to see her. We accepted that moving between the here and now to the before and then, and then back again, was almost normal. But she said I’d only be able to do it a few more times.        When I woke up this morning, the dream was still real. For just a few seconds I felt okay.        But then the sunlight broke in from the window, and I was tied up in twisted sheets, and I realized. It was a dream. I wo...

  #2 - Chapter Two " It Hurts to Say Goodbye"   Chapter Two Detective Lieutenant Doug Boswell gunned the engine of his unmarked police cruiser at Third and Lombard. He didn’t want to wait out a red light, so he just powered his way through the intersection. Action speaks louder than words, he knew that, so it was his way of showing Sergeant Eddie Buckley who was in charge.        “Don’t ever do that to me again. Don’t you even try, don’t even think about it. Got it?” Boswell knew what he had to do. Look straight ahead, lower his voice, use his authority.        It was a pleasant spring afternoon, with a clear blue sky, and there were crowds of people on the sidewalks of Society Hill. For Boswell, these people just got in his way, tourists with guidebooks and smartphones, and maybe even some Philadelphians, chatting, laughing, with too much time and money on their hands. Not like us, the police, he told himself, we gotta keep the pea...

  "It Hurts to Say Goodbye" (Copyright-2021) By William Kosman Chapter One – El Siegel  They were watching me, I could tell. Tears welling up in my eyes and streaming down my cheeks, I was crying like a baby, and I was getting hot, sweat running down my back. They were looking at me, the two cops didn’t take their eyes off me.        I was understanding, their words taking on meaning. The cops threw the words at me like fists to my heart. “A body was found, it was ID’d as Faith Gruen, Fairmount, in the park.” And images were coming to me, the curve of her red lips, a glimpse of a rounded breast, and even then I felt guilty for seeing her beauty, not her heart. And even then my stomach was tightening, and I was coughing my guts out, and the darkness was closing in.          It happened on the stoop of my Philly row house. The two cops in civilian clothes – one a big black guy, and the other skinny and white  – flashed their badg...

What I’m doing here. I’ve always thought that it’s good to live life with passion. Well, I have several passions. One of them is my painting; when I have a brush in my hand and I smear paint onto a canvas, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Another passion is writing. When, in my best moments, I’m scribbling ideas in my sketchbook or writing on my computer, my mind only focuses on my verbal creation.  But writing is different for me. Yes, writing is a passion, but it’s also a profession that I’ve practiced since 1964, when I wrote reports as a counter-intelligence operative with the U.S. Army in Germany. Then I was a police reporter for The Humboldt Times in Eureka, Calif., a newsman and editor for the Associated Press in Reno, Nev., Los Angeles and Washington, DC, and a business correspondent in Paris and a magazine editor for McGraw-Hill. Then, I practiced the craft of marketing, which includes a big dose or writing, for high-tech companies and Henkel, a major chemical company....