Posts Tagged: fiction

yellow wallpaper

Whenever I see wallpaper, I think of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s story, The Yellow Wallpaper. I must have been in high school when I first read about the nameless woman whose patronizing doctor-husband confines her to an attic nursery as a

yellow wallpaper

Whenever I see wallpaper, I think of Charlotte Perkins Gilman’s story, The Yellow Wallpaper. I must have been in high school when I first read about the nameless woman whose patronizing doctor-husband confines her to an attic nursery as a

me me me me me!

finding truth in the mirror I sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the wall. I felt as flat as that wall, flat and covered with an airtight coat of pliant beige latex paint. It must have been

me me me me me!

finding truth in the mirror I sat on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the wall. I felt as flat as that wall, flat and covered with an airtight coat of pliant beige latex paint. It must have been

Road Trip (Stop To Think)

I love a road trip: an open highway, the hypnotic hum of tire against tarmac, a trip so long I forget where I’m going or where I’ve been. Paradoxically, while catapulting down the highway, I am forced to stop and

Road Trip (Stop To Think)

I love a road trip: an open highway, the hypnotic hum of tire against tarmac, a trip so long I forget where I’m going or where I’ve been. Paradoxically, while catapulting down the highway, I am forced to stop and

messing with my head

The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They will stand at the front edge of the

messing with my head

The instructions went something like this: The first row goes first. The people stand up, walk single file onto the stage, stop, and turn to face the rest of the group. They will stand at the front edge of the

Matter Over Mind

The book Dune by Frank Herbert is one year older than I am. Growing up, I was a big fan of psychological-philosophical-science fiction of the 60s and 70s and had a well-loved, battered copy. In Dune, there’s a thing called

Matter Over Mind

The book Dune by Frank Herbert is one year older than I am. Growing up, I was a big fan of psychological-philosophical-science fiction of the 60s and 70s and had a well-loved, battered copy. In Dune, there’s a thing called

How To Write Your Own Face

Everywhere I go, I am bombarded with “I” statements and close-ups taken at arm’s length. These days, it seems like everyone is taking pictures of themselves and writing memoirs, large and small, from tweets to status updates to blog posts

How To Write Your Own Face

Everywhere I go, I am bombarded with “I” statements and close-ups taken at arm’s length. These days, it seems like everyone is taking pictures of themselves and writing memoirs, large and small, from tweets to status updates to blog posts

fishing

I lean into the shadow of the wall with hat pulled low and my feet buried in sand. I’m holding a book but my eyes move off the page. The woman to my right is applying sunscreen. Her hands move

fishing

I lean into the shadow of the wall with hat pulled low and my feet buried in sand. I’m holding a book but my eyes move off the page. The woman to my right is applying sunscreen. Her hands move

troy

I’m lurking in the shadow on the north side of the Mill Valley Middle School, as far away as possible from the playing field and paved quad where most kids hang out. I’m sitting on a weedy planter made of

troy

I’m lurking in the shadow on the north side of the Mill Valley Middle School, as far away as possible from the playing field and paved quad where most kids hang out. I’m sitting on a weedy planter made of

freeway

Sometimes I’m driving my car on the freeway and it hits me: one spacy moment, a hiccup, a tic, and I’m a goner. The freeway lane is what–maybe twelve feet wide? Twelve feet of cement for me and my car,

freeway

Sometimes I’m driving my car on the freeway and it hits me: one spacy moment, a hiccup, a tic, and I’m a goner. The freeway lane is what–maybe twelve feet wide? Twelve feet of cement for me and my car,

a story that needs a title

Here is the latest story I have been working on, as promised. It still doesn’t have a title. (Can you help me find one? And why are titles so hard? For me, titles are always the last and most difficult

a story that needs a title

Here is the latest story I have been working on, as promised. It still doesn’t have a title. (Can you help me find one? And why are titles so hard? For me, titles are always the last and most difficult

slutty stories

I am just tuning into the debate about whether or not it is alright to put one’s writing on one’s personal blog if one ever wants to be published. Some literary magazines think it’s overexposure, tantamount to self-publishing, and want

slutty stories

I am just tuning into the debate about whether or not it is alright to put one’s writing on one’s personal blog if one ever wants to be published. Some literary magazines think it’s overexposure, tantamount to self-publishing, and want

danger to myself

I was writing the other day when I heard that familiar sound of the street cleaner outside my door. The prospect of getting a $49 parking ticket for not moving my car is like a drooling vulture hanging over my

danger to myself

I was writing the other day when I heard that familiar sound of the street cleaner outside my door. The prospect of getting a $49 parking ticket for not moving my car is like a drooling vulture hanging over my

#21 waiting for peanuts

There’s a crow sitting in front of my house. He’s always there. When I look out my window I see him on the telephone wire, hulked and ruffled against the cold, still as rock. There is something so heavy and

#21 waiting for peanuts

There’s a crow sitting in front of my house. He’s always there. When I look out my window I see him on the telephone wire, hulked and ruffled against the cold, still as rock. There is something so heavy and

server error

Determined to give this last-chance-effort thing a fighting chance, I awoke this morning and sent a query letter to an agent first thing. I figured if I did it before I had my tea, I wouldn’t really notice what I

server error

Determined to give this last-chance-effort thing a fighting chance, I awoke this morning and sent a query letter to an agent first thing. I figured if I did it before I had my tea, I wouldn’t really notice what I

opening

I’m finished. I just completed my final edit of my novel. Is it done? Who knows. All I can say is that it’s as done as I can do. When people make movies, build buildings, birth babies, or cook for

opening

I’m finished. I just completed my final edit of my novel. Is it done? Who knows. All I can say is that it’s as done as I can do. When people make movies, build buildings, birth babies, or cook for

(image courtesy Jordan Blanchard)

what i asked for

Every time I say the words “my” and “novel” in the same sentence, my novel hogties me to the bed and teaches me a lesson with a dull pencil: Take that, you pretentious twirp. So today, instead of trying to

(image courtesy Jordan Blanchard)

what i asked for

Every time I say the words “my” and “novel” in the same sentence, my novel hogties me to the bed and teaches me a lesson with a dull pencil: Take that, you pretentious twirp. So today, instead of trying to