just another writer with too many cats
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Hearts on the Line
Ivan and I were the only ones left from our support group—the one that had met once a week for two years while we all sat on various waiting lists for transplants. Carla had gotten her double-lung transplant and had departed for a tour around Europe; Hugh had passed away while praying for a kidney; and Daphne was recovering in the ICU after her sister had come through with the liver tissue transplant.
You think you can know a person by their face, or their skin, or their names, or even their voices— but there's only so much you can judge away
Have We Given Up on Earth?
I don't know about you, but I get worried when I see articles about missions into space—particularly those involving civilians. I have visions to apocalyptic movies like 2012 where all the things that can go wrong do go wrong in a cataclysmic fashion, and the only thing left to do is to board our space shuttles as we flee from a dying earth.
The Beauty of French Cooking Music
It's a chaotic world out there with noise and disturbances and all manner of stressors. Though 2020 taught us that we may be able to avoid traffic and long trips to the grocery store, there are some things that are just a part of being human. You have to find the will to get out of bed every morning. You have to shower, get dressed, eat—all the usual daily rituals. You have to deal with school or work or some combination of the two. Sure, a pandemic may enable us to work from home, but that doesn't mean we don't have to deal with the things that come with being an "average" human being living an "average" life.
I Knew You
You were the kind of dazzling I wouldn't have noticed (because, let's face it, you were out of my league), but something about that shimmer in your eyes
Falling in Slow Motion
Once might have been enough, perhaps if she had been smart, but she never had the right taste— at least when it came to partners.
In the Illusion's Arms
The first wave of illusion is always the worst, right when it picks me up and cradles me in its ever-provoking tide of whimsy
The Pulse of a Story: A Playlist
Circa 2010, I think every writer I knew made playlists to go along with their novel drafts. It was "the thing" to do at the time for writers (especially after Stephenie Meyer of Twilight fame made it a point to acknowledge her musical muses in the acknowledgements of all her books). I was nineteen, an aspiring writer with her head full of bits and bobs and fantastical fluff, and who was I to deny the allure of the beats to be found for my own stories?