The Invisible Writer
Bio
"Poetry is what happens when nothing else can"
Charles Bukowski
Stories (105/0)
I love my job
I love my job because I love my family. I love my job because of what I have. I love my job because they pay me. That might sound simplistic to you, but it is everything to me. I've had many jobs in my life and I've liked and hated things about each one of them, but in the end they were all about making money. Let's be honest going to work, whether you love your job or hate it, is about selling pieces of your life. I'm a truck driver I have been for the past twenty years and most of the time I love my job, but there isn't a minute I wouldn't trade to be at home with my family instead of at work.
By The Invisible Writer3 years ago in Motivation
The Dancing Girl
She's three years old almost four, and she's spinning across the floor with her arms outstretched from her sides. Her blonde hair lifts off her shoulders while Eric Clapton plays the blues in the background. Her own voice carries over the music light and full of life. She's singing "Let it Go" her favorite song from her favorite movie while Eric is singing "Let it Grow". I'm sitting across from her on my favorite stool, a piece of furniture that features a wooven patchwork pattern that makes me think it is from the nineteen seventies, with a wide smile spread across my face. The music she's dancing too plays on a vintage stereo, that if it weren't for my brother I probably never would have put together. My youngest daughter Addi doesn't know that. She only knows she loves listening to it and dancing.
By The Invisible Writer3 years ago in Families
The pond and the hammer
The pond was here before I was born freezing every fall before the winter and thawing every spring before the summer. The pond wasn’t always my friend, but it was always here. Sometimes I hated it, sometimes I loved it. The Pond was the reason I built the house on which the front porch, where I sit now, is attached. In the grass that grows between the house and the sand at the waters edge is where my children played and grew and carried away their things to start new lives. The maple tree that rises high above the Oaks that surround its base, is where I looked into her pale blue eyes and said I do. My life has been witnessed by the pond and it is all that I am.
By The Invisible Writer3 years ago in Fiction
The summer farm
The Summer Farm I stood, leaning against the still warm hood of my car looking at the barn and surrounding farm where Uncle Henry and Aunt Ruth had taught me so many life lessons that I still carry with me. Looking across the yard at the red wood barn I notice that it is not quite as tall against the sky as I remembered. The tobacco advertisement on the side had faded in the summers that had passed in the twenty years since I stood in this same spot.
By The Invisible Writer3 years ago in Families
The Overlords
THE OVERLORDS The noises from above had driven her underground. The overlords were searching again. She was safe for the moment but, her narrow escape had not come without a cost. She would not see John again, her brother was gone. Just after she had made her way down into the darkness and just before John would do the same an Overlord had captured him in their vision. That was all it took. Just being spotted by an Overlord paralyzed you, left you in their control. There was no escape, no reprieve. Once you were caught you were theirs. The rest of your short agony filled life would be spent in the Sky Realm wasting away in the forced labor camps until there was nothing of you left.
By The Invisible Writer3 years ago in Fiction