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Writing Samples

Here I will be featuring snippets of short stories that will be included in a larger work, a collection titled, "Oh, Mother," due to publish in the Spring of 2025

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An Ode to My Creativity

  I lost you somewhere in between trying to appear beautiful and interesting for other people. You were the crux of my being, my vulnerability laid bare without limits – coasting straight through the middle of life, the heat of life, the white-hot core of life, not trying to be anything other than what you were. Not playing on the surface, not playing too deep.

A Little Death

I allow myself to be shaken from concentration, and move purposefully towards the window. Mainly to humor her. And it is like this sometimes, paradoxically. Humoring. As if I the Mother, and she the Child. But despite this brief moment of role reversal, we have all taken to heart, “Mother knows best.” Somehow her knowledge supersedes our own, even in the most ridiculous of circumstances, even when we scream inside ourselves

“I know the truth.”

We perpetually find ourselves looking through the metal grates of a dirty basement window, sun somehow managing to shine through. 

And sure enough, a tuft of unmoving grey fur reveals itself at ground level. Undoubtedly larger than a mouse

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Chemical Peel

She continues speaking as she prepares, pacing around the room, getting everything ready for me. I can barely get a word in, and it may just be that I am not assertive enough up against a woman like Jill.

Jill with perfect everything.

I think briefly of how Red Mop (Carrie) left the room before I had a chance to respond. I wonder if it is my silence that makes me sweet. My silence that gives them the permission to fill all the spaces. They are women who fill spaces while I sit gargoyle-like, naked and tiny in the dark. 

Please, Take Me Back

I am no longer hungry but hunger itself. 

I am the fire that burnt through the once luscious trees, and I am the trees themselves.  

I am the boys on their way up the mountain - somewhere in me I am laughing and in good company. 

I am the lone biker who fearlessly moved the snake off of the path.

I am the man I love who doesn’t know if he trusts me or any of this, anymore. 

I am the woman who walks up the mountain with no guidance save for the name of God to light the way, and carry her and her beloved to the real home that contains within it only the highest of truth, the highest of goodness - where there is no time, no amount of miles ahead or behind, and absolutely nothing of separateness. 

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Bleeding Elephants

“There is a screaming woman in here, I hear her late at night.” - is what he would tell me. 

I wanted to ask what she was screaming about but always kept my mouth shut instead. I did not want him to think I was buying into the story, although I very much believe in spirits, and many a world we cannot see. To humor him, however, would be to fall under, and I had to keep my head up. And anyway, I wasn’t much scared of this screaming woman. I knew that if she really was here, it was for good reason. 

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