Lover of red wine, animals, family, and fiction. I am an avid sort story writer and have won NANOWRIMO two years running.
I also love to run 5ks, hike, find obscure coffee and book shops and am a sucker for some good dark chocolate.
The Art of Life
My hands instantly went clammy at her words, the palms slick enough to wipe on my jeans and leave dark tracks. My heart felt like it would beat out of my chest completely and plop out onto Ms. Savannah’s desk so we could watch it die together.
Drowning in a Wine Glass
12-18-20 My therapist thought it would be good for me to start writing down my feelings since I seem to keep them bottled up inside. To make her happy, I went out and bought this cute little black book, which, according to her, will help me ‘heal’. I’m not sure if this will ultimately end up helping me, but at this point I’ll try anything to start getting my life back to some kind of normal.
Not Paying it Forward
Have you ever waited in the drive-thru line at one of those chain coffee shops and when you get up to the window the barista lets you know that the car in front of you paid for your order? You tend to get that warm and fuzzy feeling because a complete stranger would go out of their way to put a smile on your face. Of course, you now feel obligated to pay it forward and offer to pay for the car behind you, and then they pay for the next car, and on, and on, and on…
Saying Goodbye to 45
Dear Donald J. Trump, As I write this I am in quarantine in my office at home. I have a comfortable daybed, a nice desk to write at and, of course, my laptop and all my books. What more could a girl like me want, am I right? Maybe a kiss from my daughter before she goes to sleep at night? Maybe the chance to sleep curled up next to my snoring husband? Maybe the chance to go to work so I can provide for my family? Unfortunately, those are things I cannot do at the moment at the risk of stopping my daughter from going back to in-school learning, or my husband from finishing the kitchen remodel he has been doing for an 80-year-old woman.
Trapped in Freedom
Her key slid into the lock of the dingy bronze doorknob. She turned her wrist and then put all her weight against the door, as it consistently stuck in its frame when the weather turned cold. The hallways in her apartment building were not heated and at times she found she could see her breath come out in white puffs as she trudged from the stairs to door 302.
Into the Autumn Night
The moon cast down its soft glow onto the small sleeping village, causing ink-like shadows to form around the corners of buildings and in short alleyways. A gust of wind that held a hint of winter in its breath rustled the last of the autumn leaves that clung desperately to the skeletal branches of trees that lined the cobblestone streets.
The sun shone high in the noon day sky as birds twittered and bugs buzzed through the lazy heat and blue air. The tree spread her branches out wide and shook her glistening green leaves, disturbing a squirrel that was on the hunt for some seeds. He chittered his displeasure, jumping stealthy to her sister’s branch where he scurried into her depth and disappeared.