Category Archives: Writings

Anna, Lori, Melissa, and I met at noon at Fogata’s Street Tacos for book club. Since I’d chosen The Godfather, I also got to pick the restaurant. After ordering a fajita bowl and chomping on chips and salsa, we talked shop—what we thought, favorite parts, that sort of jazz. Our biggest takeaway was learning aboutContinue reading “Falling Into Fall”

I’m picking up my crystal ball, looking at a past moment, and my body’s showing the score. A quickness in my chest, the image shows me scrambling—talking at rather than to the person. The discomfort, the awkwardness, and knowing the conclusion ends in failure—it’s intentionally fine-tooth-combing this memory for the exact guardrails that will keepContinue reading “Bunkering For Fall”

When there’s no one else around, I perform supernatural acts. Never when they’re watching—always right after their head turns. Earlier, I tipped the mustard spice out of the cabinet. As gravity swept it down, the floor, its inevitable next stop, my Miyagi-catching-a-fly-with-chopsticks reflexes kicked in. I nabbed it midair. Had I a Super Bowl–sized audience,Continue reading “Supernatural Design”

It happened. I lost my Enter key. For months, it hung on by a teensy hinge that, multiple times a day, I had to force back into place. No longer will it hang on for dear life—now it soars into the unknown. Where it once snuggled is a bright opening, like a robotic eye keepingContinue reading “Hulk Hoganing Mayonnaise”

In noticing countries confused with cities and cities confused with America, I knew it was time to step in and help Evelyn with geography. My hand followed suit with a pencil as my eyes traced the outer edge of the world’s largest land masses on our globe. Evelyn cut them out, and together we arrangedContinue reading “Realizing the Real”

My second favorite plant is peeking over the top of my laptop. Two leaves of a mustard green with white-gray spots tremble as I type, and their quiver intensifies as my word count per minute climbs past 60. I haven’t mentioned my early typing days. In 5th grade—back in the age of dinosaurs, when computersContinue reading “Stroke By Stroke”

Standing in front of our paused 65-inch TV, I begin painting a scene for two little girls having a sleepover. The portrait features a poor little boy desperate for a golden ticket—only five exist. Will he get one, or won’t he? You and I already know. But to these two five-year-olds, the outcome is stillContinue reading “Macaroni-Sized Frog Droppings”

I analyze my writing chops and determine they’re good. Maybe too good, I think, quickly scanning the first few sentences of Reedsy’s past contest winners. But then I scan mine, and it’s indistinguishable. Still, I’m probably reading critically with an extra-large monocle lens, convinced we’re all just another cow in the herd. If none ofContinue reading “Parents Do Cry”