Deborah Moran has been a creative writer since she completed her first short story at the age of six. Her interests include literature, journalism, art history, combat sports, cooking, gardening, horses and dogs. She lives in California.
When the Predator is in Your Own Family
When most people think of stalkers who shadow women intent on sexual assault, what they think of is a stranger in black following the innocent woman to her car in some late-night parking lot, chloroform and duct tape in hand. They think of names like Ted Bundy, the Hillside Strangler, the Zodiac killer, and others.
The Secret Deletion
My oldest brother is a complete asshole. No, seriously, he earns that opinion yet again every time I have to see him. He is seriously one of the most profoundly horrible human beings I’ve ever met in my life — I always envied other little girls who had nice brothers who played with them.
On the Art of the Sword
My Top Ten Reasons to Take Up Fencing: 10) It hurts less than rugby. 9) It costs less than NASCAR. 8) You can’t drown.
Confessions of a Perfume Junkie, First in a Series For People Who Just Gotta Stink Pretty
Scent, it is often said, is the sense most closely tied to memory. I remember finding an old can of pine-scented mosquito repellent and being instantly transported back to summer camp. My first experience of paid work and financial freedom came during a summer job at the southern California Renaissance Pleasure Faire, during which time I had a custom rose and musk fragrance created by the Perfumed Dragon. To this day it is the scent of exciting new independence.
An Open Letter to the Fencing Club Poor Sport
Dear Sir, Allow me to make my role clear to you, sir. I am your opponent. That means – I oppose you. It is not my job to stand there like a crash test dummy and uncomplainingly absorb all your too-hard whip attacks. If I know that you like to use too-hard whip attacks, the evidence of which I am now wearing on my arm and back in the form of long purple bruises, I am going to keep using point in line to keep you at a distance with the point of my sabre, because I don’t like absorbing too-hard whip attacks. Please know that your heavy-handed, flailing-n00b’s style has all the finesse of a compound fracture, and seeing as how I don’t like pain, I will go to extensive lengths to avoid it. Please also be aware that fencing is a sport, not an excuse for you to beat the snot out of people with a three-foot metal whip, and that anger management counseling resources are available for people like you.
Sons of Anarchy: The Drinking Game!
During all this pandemic-enforced time at home, my husband and I have elevated binge-watching entertainments to a high art; we must have watched dozens of TV serieses marathon-style while curled up together on the couch, accompanied by copious amounts of wine and popcorn.
A Field Guide to Creative Writing Classes (Part Four & Conclusion of a Series)
Continued from Part Three... WARNING: This series of articles may offend women, men, minorities, non-minorities, animal-rights people, SF fans, fantasy fans, horror fans, romance fans, poets, sociopaths, sociopathic poets, Moms, Dads, Christians, non-Christians, Narcotics Anonymous people, piscetarians, vegetarians, vegans, and well, pretty much anyone who isn’t me.
A Field Guide to Creative Writing Classes (Part Three of a Series)
WARNING: This post may offend women, men, minorities, animal-rights people, SF fans, horror fans, romance fans, poets, sociopaths, sociopathic poets, Moms, Dads, Christians, Narcotics Anonymous people, vegetarians, vegans, and well, pretty much anyone who isn’t me.