It was an all-consuming darkness. Beautiful and powerful like a beast. And she stood there, watching, as the street turned to charcoal on a mid-summers day and flashes of red blurred by. She knew the sirens were blaring, and she could hear them, but it was like a white noise. A white noise on a…
Category: Prose
One Thing I Learned from My Father
Per the annual holiday sales excursion, tensions were high. My mother and sister were in some clothing store negotiating a clothing budget, my brothers had occupied themselves at the nearest game store. So here we were, my father and I, searching for an island in the sea of holiday shopping bags. The pair of large…
Hay in a Needlestack
Eloise creeped carefully down the hallway, her small feet filling the width of each board as she avoided the cracks. She could hear the thump, thump, thump of Lady Gladdis searching the halls. Frantically, Eloise ran into the library looking for a place to hide. In swift movement she ran and ducked behind the couch….
Sandcastles
This was Simon’s year. He was going to win the sandcastle competition. He’d done hours of research (dating back to the ancient days of sand painting), perfecting his style (gothic probably) and technique (drip method, perhaps?). He could hardly sleep last night out of excitement. It was the fifth annual competition and he would emerge…
Old Time Revival: Square Dancing in Fayetteville
FAYETTEVILLE–A few years ago I met a poet, which should’ve been a sign because every good epic starts with a poet. His name is Willi Goehring. We got to talking and sharing poetry on the cool Monday night in the fall. I’d been watching him from over the top of my computer, swinging my…
I. Territory
Stella was busy today, with lots of things to do and bills and work and people to call. But she liked being busy. She stepped out of the agency to grab a bite to eat from the gyro truck down the street. She walked on with a determined air and big steps in her high…
II. Paranoia
She’d be reading in her chair, or snuggled up in bed watching tv. There’d be a knock at the door and she’d wonder who was at this odd hour. She wouldn’t be scared that it’s an axe murderer because for some reason she just knew it wasn’t. And so she’d get up and walk to…
Cluttered Up Claire
Cluttered Up Claire
Was worse for the wear
As she dragged all her likes through the air . . .
How the Snow Began
Come and listen to the tale of how the snow began how the stars turned night to white and fell into your hand From her perch on top of her hut in her little Alaskan village, Ila stared into the northern night, tracing the stars with her fingertips. She could taste the salty…
Say Something
Realism is minute; it is the drama of a broken teacup, the tragedy of a walk down the block, the excitement of an afternoon call, the adventure of an invitation to dinner. -Frank Norris, A Plea for Romantic Fiction (1901) “Can I sit here?” she asked, blue eyes batting. He looked up, “of course.”…
How I Write
In public response to a writer-friend who asked me this a couple weeks ago, here are my thoughts, theories and practices on the grueling process of repeated vulnerability. To clarify—I hate writing. I love having written. And no I can’t take credit for that quip, that’s the brilliant Dorothy Parker. 1. Bird by Bird, by…
Short Story Analysis: Why They Walked Into A Bar
The analysis and explanation behind my short story “So Mary Magdalene, Priscilla, and Joanna Walk Into a Bar…”
So Mary Magdalene, Priscilla, and Joanna Walk Into a Bar…
A short story I wrote for my Women in Christianity class. Analysis and further explanation to follow.
The Tea Cup Collector, an allegory.
Every once in a while I get in a creative mood where I write children’s stories to vicariously solve or explain my recent problems. Children’s stories just make everything better. Maybe someday there will be illustrations. Enjoy! —————————————– The Tea Cup Collector, an allegory. —————————————– Once there was a little girl named Lee. She collected…
You Are What You Drink
Mumbled voices brewing conversation, filling tall ceilings with talk of plans and hearts and disappointments and she-said-that!s and the occasional eruption of laughter. Whispers bounce off red brick walls. Coffee machines hiss as puffs of steam curl in clouds. A husky aroma fills the air. A mix of caramel syrups and Colombian blend. Mis-matched chairs…
The Vision
Rows and rows of sleeping heads were resting in scratchy, blue and fluorescent purple seats. The hum of the bus rolled on, a deep rumbling, like an old man’s snore. He slept next to me, or at least he was pretending to. He picked up his arm and twisted and turned until it found its…
Why Tigers Are Orange
Once upon a time there was a tiger named Purple. Her name was purple because back then all the tigers had a different colored coat, and they named the color of their coat, and that color was their name. This is how all the colors came to be. Anywho. Purple had a best friend named…
