Category Archives: Writings

I’ve read Atomic Habits twice—once in English and once in Spanish. I love it. The author’s ability to break habits (wanted or unwanted) into step-by-step, actionable tasks that help you stop or start something is genuinely helpful. So helpful, in fact, that I still use the skills myself and teach them to my clients. Recently,Continue reading “Before the Habit, There’s an Identity”

This is the second part to my writing contest entry. If you didn’t read yesterday’s post, start there. Thanks! There’s a sauna-like breath painting a feathery waterfall over my ear, and the hot air trickles into my ear canal. A rogue earwig burrowing. My hand suctions and hammers at my ear. A dynamite implosion sendsContinue reading “The Entry Point”

At the tail end of my to-do someday list is to enter writing contests. Not today, and likely not tomorrow, but someday. The monthly newsletter from Reedsy reminds me of this goal, and that I fail to unsubscribe to it means it’s not junk. Although I’m only 50% into the current contest’s word count needs,Continue reading “It Could Just Be The Wind”

To squeak open that door again, I pull back. It’s cool, and iron routed in a bow-like curvature—too impressive, too stately for a lowly guest like myself. I turn my face, looking away, but no other body part betrays me. I need a moment—10–20 beats of my heart—to settle into the top step, into theContinue reading “The Spell Caster’s Final Dance”

The Mariners are one game away from the World Series. And here we are in the second inning: Logan Gilbert is shaky, the infield is fumbling routine grounders, pitch locations are slipping wide, and the Blue Jays have already scored two runs. I feel my hope deflate — a slow, embarrassing whizzle like a well-placedContinue reading “Staying in the Game”

I met Paul in graduate school when he was overworked and burned out at Microsoft. Now, years after his retirement, he’s flown to New Jersey for a month to care for his aging parents, who need daily assistance. Thankfully, his sister joins the rotation soon, and he can return to Seattle and reenter his routine.Continue reading “The Space Between Being Seen and Feeling Selfish”

Thieves and vandals don’t exist in Middle Georgia. On the corner of N. Dugger Avenue and W. Cruselle Street sits Bob’s, its sign printed in four black words separated by large dots: Discount • Beer • Cigarettes • Groceries. At the corner rest two gas pumps, long out of service. In front, between, and aroundContinue reading “The Ride to You”

The binoculars—double the size of a normal pair—sit lying on the entryway bench. Brought outside yesterday after a “Is that a deer?” moment with a lesser-sighted Grandma, who was told no by me—the golden caramel cow’s thick build made it obvious it wasn’t. To me, anyway. And to better assist, I picked up the magnifiers,Continue reading “Focusing Expectations”

Negotiating which pot to transplant the Dieffenbachia cutting into was taking too long, so Paula and I abandoned it and headed inside to help prepare for a fried chicken burger dinner. With a coating of sand on my upper thighs, calves, and feet, I was unfit for house entry—same for Evelyn—so we took turns whileContinue reading “Directing It Just So”