creative writing
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The First Sentence
What is this post without its beginning? I have heard over the years how important you are and your contribution to the writing process but I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t always put you first. Don’t always put much thought into you. So you test my patience with the very need to begin.… Continue reading
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The Gentle Rain
I am from the earth. My skin soft like the soil. I watch as the rain slithers from the sky like perspiration from my brow. It brings with it the taste of tranquility, and the smell of clean. I let the water kiss the palms of my hands and muddy itself into the soil of… Continue reading
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Dear Deception
You try to hide, but I know you are there among them. I can hear it when they walk and smell it in their smiles. The truth is that you inebriate them with lies. Overflowing their presence like air under pressure. Shame that some of them can’t even stand up straight, staggering through social media… Continue reading
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Dear Chandelier,
Some of us are just too close to the ground to see what the sky looks like and yet you, in your own way, have become the hanging crystal of inspiration. You stand unaffected among grand halls and ballrooms; of corporate offices and living rooms. I watch at the coming and going of guests. Some… Continue reading
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You Have the Right to Write
Attention: You Have the Right to Write or anything you don’t say will drive you crazy by intense desire. Creative ideas will overheat until they melt themselves into fragmented descriptions of confused thought and drip like perspiration from your brow. Words will escape your mouth in an explosion of writer’s language. Soon, you’ll start bringing up the names of… Continue reading
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Blood Line
My nephew has my birthmark on his chest. My face has my mother’s nose, and my smile is etched with my father’s teeth. I interact with the world as if on my own. It never occurs to me that I swing my arms like my Aunt. Or that the decisions I make may have already… Continue reading
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Silence
An answer kept sacred inside the breast of nothingness. Thinking for the moment to have sent up hope into an empty sky. What becomes of silence? It ignores our hunger for answers and tugs away at anxious spirits. Uncontrollably the mind races to the next step, pondering what may become of lines uninterrupted by commas… Continue reading
