Sarahmarie Specht-Bird
A writer, teacher, and long-distance hiker in pursuit of a life that blends all three.
Read trail dispatches and adventure stories at my website.
How I Dove Back Into Fiction with Vocal's Summer Fiction Series
When I was a kid, I wrote stories all the time. They seemed to bubble to the surface constantly, completely out of nowhere. Looking back, I'm envious of my younger brain. I never stopped thinking of characters, names, plots, settings, and fictional worlds. I never seemed to run out of ideas, and I never got discouraged. I miss this creative younger version of myself.
Sarahmarie Specht-BirdPublished 5 days ago in JournalPyrus calleryana
When I was eight, my sister became a pear tree. In the April sunlight her splayed arms grew gray-brown, and from her fingers unfurled shoots that became leaves and white flowers like china cups exploding into cotton.
Sarahmarie Specht-BirdPublished 19 days ago in FictionWhat's In the Pond
Summer has come again. The nights are loud with insects and bright with lightning. Fireflies dance among the trees flush with fragrant leaves, their lanterns a ping ping ping of waves lilting in the darkness. The lily pads float on the surface of the pond again, on the brink of blooming.
Sarahmarie Specht-BirdPublished 27 days ago in FictionAs Close as a Star to the Moon
Mrs. McMillan was obsessed with The Great Gatsby. She read it at least twice every year: once in the summer, and once at Christmas, from her old taped-together paperback copy she got when she was a student at Our Lady of Lourdes herself.
Sarahmarie Specht-BirdPublished about a month ago in Fiction
Memories of Lanjarón
In Lanjarón there are fountains everywhere each one has a poem on it, written in blue, the porcelain gleaming in the sunlight.
Sarahmarie Specht-BirdPublished about a month ago in PoetsPublic Domain
I mean, were the balls really necessary? They're unmissable. But then again, so is the entire bull. The black silhouette stands stark against the brown landscape and hazy blue sky. It is utterly visible: its horns rising heavenward, its four hooves planted solidly on the earth, its back perfectly parallel with the ground. And the balls. They didn't skip the balls. Not by any means. The outline is almost comically circular. It's very Spain.
Sarahmarie Specht-BirdPublished about a month ago in FictionFor the Love of Hot Tubs
I love hot tubs. Like, a lot. Absurdly much. I live in near-constant craving of hot bubbly water. When I'm searching for an Airbnb, I check the box next to "hot tub" under the amenities category, on the off chance that my location will have one. When booking a hotel, I check the pictures to see if they have a pool and spa. I'll live if my travel plans don't involve a hot tub, but it's always infinitely better when they do.
Sarahmarie Specht-BirdPublished 2 months ago in FYIIn Constant Motion
There was a bench inside the aquarium entryway. On it sat a woman. She was in her late twenties, that time when adulthood really starts to set in: lines more pronounced, time falling like sand through clenched fingers, a sense of weight.
Sarahmarie Specht-BirdPublished 2 months ago in Fiction
