Category Archives: WRITING

As he went up the stairs the memories rushed down to greet him. Lentil soup at Mrs. Levin’s. Dark and heavy with the sweetly scented bay leaf, the prickle of pepper and spotted with the flash of cubed potatoes like … Continue reading → Continue reading →

The door screeched open and the stranger came in, stood there as the door whined its way shut. He waited for all the heads to turn back to their coffees before he aimed his path down the aisle to the … Continue reading → Continue reading →

For CW I’ve been reading Flash Fiction Forward, the latest in a collection of super short stories–usually not longer than three pages. While I’ve posted on the class weblog on these, something I’d like to note here is the way … Continue reading → Continue reading →

At the top of the stairs was a snowman, with broccoli eyes and a bright carrot penis, its green feathery tops drooping against the packed snow. As she walked by she reached out and stroked it.. It came off in … Continue reading → Continue reading →

The irises on the sideboard were bending, limped by hats of snow that had first surprised and delighted them.  They had never seen snow, never known a winter.  Here they had been taken care of and protected, given time to … Continue reading → Continue reading →

He didn’t see her.  When he thinks back on it, he still swears to God he didn’t see her.  "Another one, Fred," he calls. He shifts on the stool, straightens his spine then slips back like mercury into his slumped … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Just a note (so I don’t flunk this course again) that I indeed have been writing daily, hourly, in my sleep and in the heap, as I wake and breakfast break, in a vat or with a hat, indeed I … Continue reading → Continue reading →

From the Hanging: Continue reading →

Rather than duplicate, I’ll link to what I’ve been writing this morning and posted at Hypercompendia. Should, I suppose, explain that Hyperc is a weblog devoted to new media methods of storytelling, and in particular, a hypertext program called Storyspace … Continue reading →

Pre-semester setting up of journal here.  Because I can. Continue reading →

What would mine eyes more sorrow cast Than life within a sphere? To float amid my fellowmen Untouched except with danger To be burst upon the contact With transparent moving colours And thus to fall amongst them And be one? Continue reading →

Even as I cling I know I must let go and fall to earth.  Even a single leaf acknowledges its season. Continue reading →

From Bud Parr at Chekhov’s Mistress, we find that perfect little place of inner peace and creative energy, at Michael Pollen’s writing house in the woods:

Trying to get in touch with my dark side today but Susie Giggles just keeps popping up.  That’s better than Old Lady Gibb, however, since that’s who’s been hogging the creative floor in these cold and lonely winter days. Today … Continue reading → Continue reading →