The flimsy blue curtain dangled loose from its Velcro snap. I caught a glimpse of the other side as it swayed with the turbulence. Between waves of blanket blue, I spied warm peanuts and champagne. The curtain separated two classes…. Read More ›
creative writing
Mailboxed-In, A Short Story
It had taken nearly an hour to write and only one second to drop. It was decided, and it was the way it had to be. From the small table, next to a faded green plastic cactus, I could see… Read More ›
Harley Worth a Dime (Flashback Friday)
Harley’s Bowl was where we rolled, almost every weekend. The 60’s inspired single-story building towered over the otherwise empty field, unless the circus was in town. The bleak architecture neither inspired nor dissuaded us. The Nihilists weren’t scripted yet, there… Read More ›
Of Blade and Valor
Inspiration comes in infinite packages. It’s a good thing, too, since fortune is a measurement of our choices. From athletes and laureates to three-legged dogs, my neck doesn’t have to strain too hard to find a helpful nugget of you-can-do-this…. Read More ›
Growing Pain Groan
My mind drifted towards giraffes. I realized it was on account of the abnormally tall family of four behind us in line at Fish, our favorite restaurant in Sausalito. To avoid any doubt, the family was human and the restaurant… Read More ›
Mailbox: It Gives me Flings
I sat alone and thought about my characters – you know, the growing population of make-believe people that hang out in my mind. More specifically, I thought about creating some “real characters” to mix things up in the ‘ole noggin. … Read More ›
If You Can’t Handle The Heat, Sit in a Kitchen
The sun relented behind the river bank, yet dusk’s glow did not bring cooler air. And despite the persistent heat, we positioned our seasoned chairs into a familiar ring. We were camping, so it wasn’t like we had much choice… Read More ›
Treat Myself Write
I know the secret to writing. No, it’s not a strong hook, creating unforgettable characters, or even mastering the narrative craft. These things help, of course. As does an in-depth dissection of The Fugitive and Casablanca. But the secret for… Read More ›
The Mower in the Window
She danced in the den, swinging from the door to the open window. She protected our secret through whatever addiction served her. The glare behind her loose curls told me everything. I walked past her, and wondered if I whispered:… Read More ›
It’s Too Late to Say It’s Never Too Late
It was the pause between her haunted words that terrified me. Of course, it was her words repeated to the others that terrified them. Not because it was something she said, or the days between her visits, but because… Read More ›
eternal Domnation 