Embers
Written in 1983. Shiny orange turns to gray. Starts from black, some other way. Brings a light, so bright, so dull. Shines of warmth that is so cold. Are you Fire? Are you Ice? Or just an ember of the past?
-
-
Sleepy Misunderstandings
I just remembered something funny that happened to me. This was back in 1998 and I had been having some knee pain. I was curled up asleep and my husband came in to join me. He put his hand on my knee and said, “Heal.” I was half asleep, so I replied, “Knee.” He put…
-
-
The Asymptotic Nature of Writing
Writing is a lot like losing weight. As you work toward your goal weight, you’ll hit set points along the way. You’ll stay at that set point for awhile then start losing again. With writing, you constantly strive to be a better writer and then you’ll hit a set point. Breakthroughs in writing come in…
-
-
Continuum
This is one of my favorite short stories. I’m still looking for a good market for it. But in the meantime, I’m sharing it with you here.
-
I Am an Atom
Written in 1983. I am an atom. I make up molecules. I am a molecule. I make up tissue, bone and flesh. I am tissue, bone and flesh. I create a human being. I am a person. I make up cities. I am a city. I make up counties. I am a county I make…
-
Breathe
This poem is an exercise in creating scenes with strong sensory information. Breathe. Fill your nostrils with the smokey scent of your neighbor’s barbecue. Breathe. Listen to the rustle of pine needles brushing against each-other in the breeze. Breathe. Soak in the starlight slowly spinning in the dark blue sky. Breathe. Fill yourself with the…
-
Man: A History in First Person
When I was very young, I created fire. I created rock tools, and the wheel. When I was in my teens, I learned agriculture, and made gods that ruled everything I did. When I was middle aged, I discovered that there is only one god, and that he hadn’t created everything. I discovered evolution. But…
-
Footsteps in the Mist
This short story, written while I was in High School was inspired by Franz Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis.” My Dad would drop me off at school around 7am on the way to his work. I would wonder the corridors, all alone, and on one particular day it was very foggy. That’s how this story was born.
