My Writing
My collection of poetry, prose, and short stories
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I had a dream last night. A terror, a nightmare, vision, or just a dream. A dream about him, about me, about us, and about her- She is always a subcurrent in such dreams. In my dream, we were standing face-to-face. For the first time in 4 years, we were together. Even in my dreams
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We would be eating pie right now. That’s the kind of couple we were. Snipping like grandparents, teasing like kids. Sharing and stealing our slices in turn. That old Village Inn, with its peeling paint and faded sign, Has been replaced by a pizza joint. But that’s what memories do- Change. Four years ago we
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books on the sofa, my bed, strewn across the kitchen table, and stacked on the window’s ledge. Pages turned and marked haphazardly with bookmarks, paper scraps, folded book covers, and even pens. Left open like a half-finished thought- read at varying paces. Just one is never enough. half-read books stored in many places.
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Part 1: Here Part 2: Here Part 3: Here Part 4: Here I carried the prince to the edge of the castle gates, then went inside to introduce myself as a representative of his entourage, sent ahead to prepare for his arrival. Once there, I would begin my observations of the court, and the princesses
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*I didn’t forget, the holidays were just really busy!* Part 1: HERE Part 2 : HERE “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Prince James looked at his diminished reflection in the still water of a pond just outside the Sonnigeebene castle gates. “I can’t believe you let me do this,” I replied. I
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How can something so cold be less like unyielding ice? Soft and fragile as a fairy wing, graceful and light in its dance. More air than water, less wet than dry, champagne snow falls in mountain skies.
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Read part 1 HERE: A formal letter of agreement and a gift were promptly sent to the Kingdom of Sonnigeebene, and James and I were preparing to follow. I was eager to see our neighbors to the East, but Prince James’ nervousness the more the topic of marriage was brought up. Each time Prince Hans
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As children Prince James and I played in the courtyard together. We were unlikely friends, the second born son of a king and the only son of the castle sorceress, but we spent every day together since we were scarcely out of the nursery. He, as a second son, had few royal responsibilities, and I
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I become obsessed with perfection when my anxiety spikes. Filling every moment of my time with self-improvement tasks, as if I could compensate for my own shameful humanity through diligence. It’s a performance, with myself as the only audience. A dance of of wild precision – a single misstep will bring me crashing down. It’s
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Like many writers, I have a backlog of writing. My files and folders are stuffed with projects I’ve started, but abandoned at various stages of development. Short stories and novellas in many genres: speculative horror, suspense, fantasy, and romance, children’s books, and personal essays- all still waiting for their first draft mock-ups. In honor of
Bringing Mae Flowers 