Under stretched thin flesh
Marring scars from old wounds
Lies repaired metal
With a hitch in the ticks
The thump is uncomfortable
Continuing the counters
The lump is unnoticeable
To an untrained eye
The hush quiet with unbroken silence
. . . . .but the demons hear it
The damaged click
Ignites their hunger
Ready to hunt for the sound so well hidden
I fear the ripping
The blood spilling
The broken, mangled instruments
Breaking it to pieces
I fear . . . Rebuilding newborn skin The stitches So many stitches A life without the constant…
I’m a respectable 5′ 4″. There are many of us that walk around in this cute, little package, people like Catherine O’Hara, Billie Eilish, Rashida Jones, and even Michael J. Fox all hang out at this height. I am as average a height as you can imagine, yet this year I have grown more than I have ever grown in a single year. I feel like I’ve grown a foot, being stretched in ways I never imagined. This is not a physical height that can be measured, but perspective that has immeasurably changed the way I view everything. …
A seasonal short fiction
Leah stared transfixed at the man across the counter, completely forgetting everything but the sound of his voice. “Sorry. Could you just repeat your order for me?”
The heavily scarfed man smirked under the layers. He must get that a lot.
“Yeah. I’d like a dawk chocolate mocha with ahmond milk. Grande.”
“Right, right.” Leah punched the order into the register, breathing in deep hoping to wash the embarrassment from her cheeks. She took his card and swiped it through. “So, are you from England?” she asked handing back his card.
A charmed smile hung around…
I usually never participate in thankful posts. Reason, well, I’m thankful every day. I say “Thank you” on a daily basis, and honest, I mean it. I’m grateful when someone holds the elevator for me, or for the pleasant, talkative cafeteria worker who rings me up, or that my daughter is dressed on time for school, or when the dishwasher is emptied without me reminding anyone to do it. There are so many things that happen daily that I am profoundly grateful for.
But what 2020 has really done for me in the way of gratitude is realizing what I…
My own home,
For which I love and treasure,
You have time and again
Forgotten how to open your eyes.
The flag, my flag
Is no longer my flag, but yours.
Stolen in the name of freedom.
The thirteen brandished like cattle,
An emblem of pride and ownership,
Do you not remember the cages?
The children separated from their parents?
How quickly you forget the riots,
The injustice handed to others,
The deaths of the ill,
The lives of the caregivers,
The ignored science,
The roulette wheel.
How has a caricature of a human Intimidated you…
Writing complex, complicated characters is one of my favorite things to do. I love personality and infusing personality traits into my characters. Bringing in a diverse background is critical to building layers to your characters — however, so many people don’t know what’s appropriate.
The reason why I say this is simply stated with appropriation — when is it okay to use race, nationality, gender identity, in your works? It’s a tricky, complex area, but characters need identity and many will not identify like you, so they should be different. How you address these issues in your writing is critical.