Down at the End of the River

Down at the End of the River, a collection of short stories set in south Louisiana, was published in 2008 by Margaret Media, Inc. To order, visit or Stories in the collection have appeared in Xavier Review, Talking River Review, Louisiana Literature, Habersham Review, Pennsylvania English, and Dominion Review.

Advance praise for Down at the End of the River:

"Angus Woodward’s fertile, off-center imagination captures the soul of southern Louisiana much the way a 500-pound gator might chomp down on a kayak, except Woodward’s free-wheeling stories are fun, funny, and no one really gets hurt. Down at the End of the River is a humid, hilarious debut collection not to be missed. Laissez les bons temps rouler!"
--Dinty W. Moore, author of Between Panic and Desire

"Angus Woodward has an uncanny ability to slip inside the hearts and minds of characters as they step off the worn paths of their lives. Each lively, funny, heartfelt story in Down at the End of the River is a quirky delight."
--Brent Spencer, author of Are We Not Men?

"Angus Woodward’s imaginative prose lures readers into the unlit corners of the human psyche. His characters leap off the page, his plots are taut and atmospheric, and his outcomes are deliciously unpredictable. These stories grip and don’t let go.

"Career criminals who reform, Vietnamese refugees working through intense pain, kids next door discovering exactly how complex the heart can be—Angus Woodward’s collection has it all, and more. As subtle as they are powerful, these stories probe the human condition with penetrating insight and no apologies.

"Down at the End of the River, with its memorable characters and unpredictable plots, reminds us why storytelling is important. Beautifully crafted, intensely atmospheric, and emotionally fearless, Woodward delivers a wild literary ride along the modern Mississippi."
--Julie Mars, author of Anybody Any Minute

Here is an excerpt from the title story, courtesy of Margaret Media and Xavier Review:

Down at the End of the River
One day I guess I decided it was foolish for a man my age to keep pestering people and I just stopped what I had been doing for practically forty years or something, not that I ever counted that carefully. No more breaking, no more entering. I vowed to toss the coke-machine keys in the river the next time I was down in the Quarter. I couldn't bring myself to give away all of the guns, but planned to call some of my old assistants and ask if they wanted some, saving out a shotgun, three revolvers, and my thirty-ought six just for security and holidays.
So what do I do now? I wondered, and gave the old TV a try. Nothing but a bunch of yahoos beeping and tussling on all those newfangled talk shows. I cracked the blinds to get a look at what other people were doing. The street was quiet and shady like always, but instead of thinking it was the boringest place on earth, I saw how peaceful and homey it was. Why would I want to run off to Fat City strip joints or out to the truck stop casinos when I could do what my neighbors did on evenings like this? None of them were doing it just then, but often with the men home from work for the evening and two hours of daylight to go, people would find excuses to get out into their little yards, maybe to poison some fire ants or prune their azaleas, of which mine were halfway covering the windows. Doo-dad would be out soon with his glass of whiskey or can of beer, just sitting on the front step calling out smart comments to those who walked by. Because he was old like me, everyone thought his remarks were cute, but I knew better.