Dabbling in writing, I have tried my hand at short stories, novels and a few opinion pieces. There is just something freeing about having a creative outlet.
The rest of my writing can be found at:
I sat in the outrageously uncomfortable wooden chair and patiently waited for the man across from me to comb through my credentials. This happened every so many decades. Someone new would either purchase the buildings or a new manager would be appointed.
Of Scales, Blood Ink and Forgotten Things
My hand hesitated just above the door handle. Of all the things I had done in my life, what I was about to do bothered me the most. There was something sacred about a library. Especially an old one.
The Desperate Passage
Outside of the inn window, slate grey skies stretched as far as the eye could see. A dampness clung to everything that promised rain before the day was over. But none of that deterred the sailors who crawled all over the ships and the docks like so many ants on a hill. Calls from the rigging were lost to the mists, only heard by the crew within immediate proximity.
A Conversation With My Mom
When I was in my early twenties, just after my first divorce, I had a conversation with my mother that I will never forget. We were standing in her kitchen, talking about nothing in particular, and she abruptly said, “Sarah, never put yourself in a position where you are dependent on a man. For anything.”
Needles of Silver and Bone
Twilight bathed the unassuming suburban neighborhood in gentle shades of orange and lengthening shadows. The only sounds in the house were Gretta humming to herself as she did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, Alex Trebek starting Double Jeopardy and the click-clack of the plastic knitting needles.