this summer i wrote for a progressive, prompt based contest at AWCS, and made it to the third and final round of ten finalists. i didn’t place but i wrote 3 stories that i can expand and try to find them homes. i’ll take it!
september morningsquirrels pitch pinecones onto the roofwhere are my socks?
week 9, quarantine
this. fucking. pandemic.
week 5, quarantine
my hair is morphing, christopher walkenesque it keeps snowing and i keep wearing sweaters, sweaters i’m running out of cooking ideas over here, help me out, will ya? my nerves are sizzling, sizzling i’ve forgotten how to knit narcoleptic + wild dreams watching finnish/nordic/polish murder mysteries
“look at those fucking flower shorts.” “i like them.” “and he wears a fucking hockey jersey. no fucking concept. i told him to get some tennis clothes.” they devolve into a discussion about fashion on the tennis courts, discussing the AUS open before swerving back to their friend with bad taste. “pink shoes. fucking pink … Read more
i’m 55 years old, and a writer, and my teenage years have been over for a long time. it’s hard to remember. i sit in front of my computer and stare through my words, and watch Val sink into the mud of a shotgun wedding, and Brenda step into a locked stairwell in a psychiatric … Read more
shift change lonely nurses squelch through slush outside the Chumir a meth head bums a smoke –this dark city