just another writer with too many cats
email: [email protected]
The Tempest Is Waiting
Sometimes it starts with a rain shower at the break of dawn. Other times, when she's had a nightmare, the storms roll out in waves that she can't control. Gusts of wind batter the windows, and she knows with a sinking feeling that her neighbors will report downed trees in the morning. Hundreds may lose electricity for days.
When a Lullaby Isn't Enough
Mother—why did you not hold me close when I cried at night? I held out my tiny fingers to grasp you, to try and keep you near me, but you never reached out to me at all. Sometimes I wonder if you were just sitting in the other room, eyes widen open, as my nightmares swirled with a sleepless fugue of being.
All Your Broken Pieces
Summer way outside the city brought with it the promise of peaches and late nights spent in the fields. Laughter fluttered along with the whistle of corn stalks brushing against each other. The kids in town always brought with them packs of beer—the older folks overlooked the fake IDs because they too had once been young—before finally settling underneath a blanket of stars. Somewhere between childhood and adolescence, they had forgotten the wonder of pointing out the constellations that couldn't be mistaken as the lights from airplanes.
It Wasn't Supposed to End Like This
Did you think love was like a cake lovingly baked through time and error? Did you think measuring out each cup of flour and dusting your face with it would make him stay? Did you think that last birthday cake would secure his affections in a way nothing else could?
I Don't Belong
Do you remember when Ma took us to the barn off of Shady Creek Lane? I played with the calico kittens, their eyes barely open, while you climbed bales of hay. The insides were falling apart, like an old man whose bones were nearly poking through his skin, but Ma didn’t seem to care as she smoked cigarette after cigarette with Dan, the owner.
"You're a Writer!" They Proclaim
I remember the first time I was hit by the writing bug. When I was in the sixth grade, an essay I wrote about my grandpa made it through as a winner of a state competition. Just being chosen made me feel like there was something special about me that had suddenly appeared overnight.
Too Many Musings of the Apocalypse
It's been a long three weeks! As someone who devoured dystopian novels circa 2010-2012, Vocal's Doomsday Diary challenges—in partnership with Unbound—seemed right up my alley. I managed to scour my ideas and write 20 short stories of varying apocalyptic scenarios. (And, yes, I had to call back a few for edits because I forget to include the heart-shaped locket, the key detail required for all entries.)