Authors Note: This is dedicated to my better half, who was born in Venezuela, and his family who remain there. I hope the future is different.
The Legend of the Blind Angler
Drive four hours northeast of Vancouver, BC, and you'll find yourself smack dab in the middle of wine country. In addition to award-winning wines, the Okanagan Valley is known for its orchards, ciders, and for being one of Canada's premier summer destinations.
The Thirteenth Floor
Ding! The instant the elevator doors slide open I begin to fervently pray a hole will open up in the ground and swallow me whole.
How to Fall with Grace
Dear Mom, We both know I’ve always been a Daddy’s girl. Dad and I have a lot of things in common, it’s true, but I hope you know that number one on the list is you.
Vines & Pages
Spencer Maxwell stared intently down at the open book in front of her. She'd been reading the same page for at least ten minutes, but the words refused to register. All around her people sipped wine and nibbled at cheese, their casual chatter blurring into a sort of non-distinct hum. Out of the corner of her eye, Spencer saw a tall figure walking towards her, and felt her heart thrum like a hummingbird had found its way into her chest.
The Blind Date
Kate Sanderson gave her reflection one last critical look. Ocean-colored eyes stared back at her, the pupils rimmed with gold in a way that made them appear vaguely cat-like. She’d gone easy on her make-up, wearing only mascara and a thin coating of pink gloss. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a complicated twist, though pieces were already beginning to escape here and there.
The First Lady
The woman who would one day be coined the “Ruff Ryders’ First Lady” grew up in the housing projects of Philadelphia. Eve Jeffers—or, more simply, Eve—began her career as a teenager, singing in a band called D.G.P, or the Dope Girl Posse.
Message in a Bottle
Off to the left, Nick Sawyer could see remnants of the long abandoned railway, its rusted metal trusses glittering in the mid-morning sun. Over the years those old bridges had been turned into walking trails or fishing piers, some missing a span or two and all in varying stages of neglect and disrepair. As he passed he could see the weathered fishermen casting their lines, shiny lures sparkling in the air before splashing down and disappearing beneath the crystal blue water.