Since reading Tolkien in Middle
school, I have been fascinated with creating, reading, and hearing art through story’s and music. I am a perpetual student of writing and life.
Your Scattered Flowers Blossomed
Tom, Tom, Tom, ………….. the drums are beating. Tom, Tom, Tom, ………….. your sheep are bleating. Tom, Tom, Tom, …………..
The Lunchbox Collector
The longer I sleep, the longer I sleep, and I won't awaken unless someone sets me loose. I will be found in the cold of the ground, and I may be dead already. I think I'm dead, but not yet for eternity. Will you be the one to set me free?
The amber candlelight flickered, and the shadowed daggers nicked their faces as they sipped wine in the Cafe Americana. Amy and Grant viewed themselves as close seconds to Hugh Grant and Renee Zellwinger. Their strong egos, and too much alcohol, enhanced the illusion. Three emptied vino bottles proved the validity of their case most nights.
Gerry and the New York Heiress
She wondered what it was like in his silent world and wished he could tell her; instead, she traced his eyebrows with her fingertips. Streaks from her finger and droplets from her eyes smudged the cold glass and formed prisms on the screen of the IPad. Gerry, with his noble face, strong jaw, high cheekbones, stoic black eyes, and the silken frame of his long ebony hair, stared at her, silent. Janice brought the tablet closer and touched her lips to the image of his full, firm lips.
The Gift of the Socks
My real education in life began the year after I graduated high school when I met Charlie. The frigid air, a record cold at seventeen degrees, seeped through the seals of the front display glass, and I turned up the floor heater in the sporting goods store I managed. The old retail building, built eighty years earlier, didn't have much insulation and no central heating and air.
Jocassee - The Place of the Lost One
This story is dedicated to Tom Bradbury, your critiques will be missed. *** July 1974 Amelia Logan, cold, wet, and agitated, stood on the rickety dock as the angry waves from the vast lake lapped over the old wooden boards. Her stringy damp hair whipped in the wind, and her blue cotton dress, soaked, clung to her petite body. She gazed up at the gray and black clouds that roiled across the skyline that sprayed mists like a judgment on the world and its inequities. Her mind raged like the summer storm and wondered where Heidi had been the past year.
The Gum, the Chocolate, and the Pill
The war raged on over the years between the girls and the boys at our youth summer camps and I learned a lot from them as a young man. Water balloon fights escalated into shaving cream battles. The Saran wrapped toilet seats in the girl's dormitory lead to retaliation and the clandestine theft of all the boy's light bulbs on the holiday weekend retreat. There was no chance at peace talks after that round because my friend Stephen entered the action. He was a genius (our class valedictorian years later) and read voraciously, even at camp. The light bulb heist disrupted his schedule, and it angered him.
Warm scents of biscuits in my room, awoke me in the morning. I showered, dressed and hugged my mom, my safe haven, and my home