Found my "Voice" as a college student of forty-seven. Once a memoir was written, fiction, poetry and non-fiction became my passions.
- Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
With Just A TouchRunner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge
I have about an hour before they pull the switch on what was once a very ingenious and lucrative career. My name is Barnard Oliver, or Barn Owliver, a moniker courtesy of the town’s youth who would come to me for advice. They said I “had an answer for everything.” That I was as wise as an owl. A persona I encouraged, to abate my deep loneliness living with an enigma of a father.
- Top Story - December 2021
Life As A TeacherTop Story - December 2021
She had been gone six months, but I grieved as if she had left my life overnight. Mother’s reticence and insecurity made her an enigma to her daughter of almost fifty years. We rarely spoke. Her journey through pain, my struggles to survive, and our shared nightmare resonated as the echo of our existence together.
- Top Story - December 2021
We Girls Have to Stick TogetherTop Story - December 2021
I was sure I would recognize her when I saw her. Philip has a “type.” I already know her name is Bridget. She also described herself in great detail on the phone, which made me even more agitated than I was before we made our lunch date. We didn’t do the usual “you’ll know me by the white carnation” crap. She just said, “I’ll be the one who’s eight months pregnant.” That should be easy enough to spot. Especially in an out of the way truck stop diner. This greasy spoon would not have been my first choice for our meeting, but I couldn’t risk being spotted by anyone who knew my husband, or by my husband for that matter.
The Perfect Pear
It had to be done. It’s not as if he is the first boyfriend to “bite the dust.” But he was the best… How could he not understand? It’s college. I have been groomed for this moment, all my life. My parents have been packing the car for over an hour, and I have to be up North for orientation by this evening.
Margaret waited until the coast was clear and pressed her frail body against the cold brick wall. She hoped if she made herself small, moved quickly and quietly, she could get to the front door un-detected. The long hall’s overhead lights were turned off to “conserve energy.” Or so the residents were told, when they pleaded to not be left alone in complete darkness. She suspected the lights were kept off so the night crew could sleep through their shifts. The only illumination for her flight, was the rusty green exit sign hanging over the porthole to her freedom. Tonight, Margaret was grateful for the green tinted darkness, that barely lit her way to the door. While enveloped in tinged shadows, Margaret, or Maggie as her beloved husband Ted called her, stopped to listen to the familiar sounds of the lonely night, one last time…