• Friday Fiction : I Hate You (a flash fiction story)

    On Fridays we write. Answering a prompt is a good way to stay in touch with your writing, storytelling, and creativity. In this flash fiction piece, the goal was to “write a story with the word ‘hate’ in it.” Simple parameter. I write a lot about relationships, mostly happy ones, and sometimes ones that are on their way back from devastation. This is one of those. Here’s what I came up with for this week’s FICTION FRIDAY. *** I HATE YOU | Flash Fiction There was nothing left to say. The words hung in the night air as the sound of the sea pounced against the rocks. The breeze caught…

  • Nevertheless…

    I was definitely born in the wrong era; this wicked-ass hopeless romantic loves music from the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s. It’s the reason why I’m such a fan of Mr. Buble. He brings back all the classic standards that I love and makes them his own…with charm and sex appeal. “Nevertheless” has always been one of my favorite songs, written back in 1931, and I love the poetic lyrics so much. This song can make you swoon. Perhaps this is one of the shortest post I’ve ever written because when it comes to music, all we need to do is let the song tell us a story. Maybe it’s your…

  • Fictography #16 – Little French Market

        /FICTOGRAPHY/ def. — The intersection of photography (submitted by readers) and fiction (written by me!). Truthfully, this week I’m on a little bit of a hiatus. On campus, we are down to the last two weeks, and I’ve been inundated with work and grading and attending events, not to mention that it’s Easter weekend. Therefore, I had little time for creativity this week, so for this week’s Fictography, I pulled one out of the archives and dusted it off. I actually took this photograph myself. This cute little coffee shop is situated in Historic Ellicott City, and I used to frequent it all the time when I lived…

  • Moved To Tears

    I don’t know what it is about driving in a car by yourself with the ability to listen to whatever music you choose, but there are some songs that are so poetic, they move me to tears. I’m back to my old tricks–the hopeless romantic in me has returned. Full force. On my way up to Local Authors Day at the Bel Air Library (a 45-minute drive), I was listening to John Mayer. He’s one of my favorite artists, primarily because his lyrics are so incredibly moving and realistic. Back in the car on the ride home, I popped the CD back in again. Every time I listen to “Comfortable,”…

  • I Can’t Make Him Love Me, A Short-Short

    When I was taking courses for my MFA, I had to write weekly exercises that went up for critique. I came across this one that I hadn’t shared. It’s a really short one. We had to “get in and get out” quickly so readers could “feel and understand the situation” in under 400 words. Here’s how it went. . . I Can’t Make Him Love Me There, by the lake, she was watching the two figures, bobbing in the water, clothes strewn on the shore where the sand meets the grass, nude, hair soaking wet, arms grasped tightly around each other, lost in each other’s eyes and lips. Her heart…

  • Rubbish Relationships: Why Adele’s Grammy Acceptance Speech Rings True for Writers

    The other day I was talking to my friend Jenny about a few pieces of poetry I’d been working on. I read her one I’d written over the phone because I yearned for some feedback. “That’s really beautiful,” she said to me. “It’s so raw and full of emotion.” When we write a poem or a story, we want to hear someone say something along these lines. It helps validate our writing, as it should reflect the depth and breadth of emotion we attempt to convey through the words we put on the page. Expressing the emotions we felt for someone in our past or recounting that feeling of letting…

  • The Postcard, Part 2

    The Postcard This is Part 2. A few people asked me what happened with Emily and what was going on, so I decided to continue it. If you don’t remember what happened in Part I, click here to read it. Here’s Part 2… Alan looked at his watch. He felt ill. Not because he was on his way to see Emily and try to set things right, but because he’d been sick about what had happened for over a month. He didn’t even mean what he’d said to her that morning when she couldn’t get off the sofa and the tears continued to pour down her face. Sometimes you say…