Short Fiction
Underground
“One. Two. Three.” I counted in the dark.People huddled in the crowded subway tunnel smelling of damp wool coats, black-market cigarettes, coal dust and fear. Momma held my hand squeezing it tight to calm us both. Papa was upside fighting the fires that followed the explosions of Hitler’s rockets. People shifted uncomfortably on the floor…
VSS: Sept. 19, 2019 – Cavernous
The hole in my chest is cavernous. It should be impossible for a human body to contain this much emptiness. The echoes created there ripple out between past and present, creating confusion between the then and the now. I survive with one foot nailed in the past.
A short story about beer
It is a typical summer evening around the house. The cicadas are humming in the trees, the occasional addition of frog song chimes in.
VSS: FEB. 2, 2021 – Danger
I will never be alone. I forever carry my mother’s voice with me. In my head the word ‘danger’ echoes, inescapable. Stairs, danger. Eating, danger. Ice, danger. People, danger. That word, her fear, is her legacy to me.
VSS: Oct. 27, 2020 – Organ
What a fascinating organ, the human heart. It can be warm and tender, a wellspring of passion, a font of grace. That same lump of tissue, mistreated and abused, can still survive by becoming hard, cold and impenetrable.
VSS: Jun. 29, 2022 – Survival
As a child, survival meant becoming small, silent, erasing myself or breaking off pieces. Wanting was dangerous, get rid of it. Noise was dangerous, get rid of it. Presence was dangerous, get rid of it. Until nothing was left to prove I was there.
Stories & Novels
Update: June 29, 2022
Well, the rewrite is done. Now, I edit the thing.
It’s a hard thing to realize your book-baby is one ugly f*ck. And humbling. So very humbling.
The only thing to do is to dig deeper and write a blog post about it.
The Beginning Writer – ah, humility
Update: June 20, 2022
More from the editing trenches. I’ve been learning so much recently. It’s getting kinda silly. I’m proofreading menus. I found an error on a sign at a museum (won’t say which one) but hubs had to keep me from circling it with my lipstick.
Oi, that woulda been so over the top. But really, national museum can’t spell the word ‘street’.
Update: May 30, 2022
Ok. I’m knee-deep in this editing thing. I find I’m writing myself notes about things I am finding in my own writing. The goal is to go from flat and flabby to lean with a dash of zing. (Ok, a liberal helping of zing.)