This One is in “Prose”


Last night I finally had a sweet, pleasant, simple dream. I can’t remember the last one that felt hopeful. It wasn’t lurid, or a Freudian masterpiece, either.

I was on a first date. With a lovely girl. I remember her having long, thin arms, and brushing away my hair as I drifted to sleep with my head in her lap. We were watch a movie in the park. I whispered “I love you”, knowing it was far too soon to say it. 

Of course, this “park” was the back yard of my childhood home. Because what other landscapes exist in the subconscious besides your earliest imprints? Sometimes entirely make-believe arenas you’ve never seen, but often we revert to our childhood. Where the world was really no bigger than your backyard. 


This Was Written Last Weekend


Aristotle said, “Nature abhors a vacuum.”

And so I fill with self doubt.

Sometimes being strong feels like a consolation prize.

Why are bad habits so easy to pick up, to fall back into, hard to break?

And Good Habits have to be learned and practiced. 

Everyone from your lover, to your boss, to the media

wants you to be someone you are not.

At some point, you will question your authentic self.

I question every ounce, from my talent to my own self worth.

Being aware of my privilege,

makes me feel even more pretentious

than the willful ignorance

of “First World Problems”.

A Poem I Wrote After The Literazzi Prom This Year


And do you miss the days I used to taste like punk rock?

Beer and cigarettes,

beautifully tragic.

Tragically beautiful.

Struggling to come out of my own cocoon.

Sleeping on all sides of the bed. 

I danced in high heels all night.

Tonight my kisses taste like rum.

I am in flames. I am on fire.

Glorious monument to my own self worth.

I miss you.

The pillow talk in candid moments. 

But all things glorious aren’t built to last. 

short short fiction


“Tell yourself this is the life that you have chosen, sequestered and hermetic. This life where you are never part of the action,” said the dame with moxie. She was young. Her hair was a brassy bottle blonde and her lips an orange-red. She had just chucked one of James’  awards right into one of his framed certificates on the wall behind him in his office.  “When we moved to the city, I thought life would be better. I thought I wouldn’t be sitting at home…” She had begun to cry. 

James grabbed her arm before she could pick up the marble ashtray on his desk. “And everyone said you were a ‘child bride’… ” He grabbed her around the waist and she feigned a bit of kicking and squirming. 

“You smell like my father. Like cigars and bourbon.” Big crocodile tears came down her cheeks from her brown eyes. 


“Honestly, babe, why do you watch this shit?” 

Just like that the screen went blank. And so did Katie’s mind, for a moment. That was one of her favorite movies since she was a kid. She had named her first dog Greta after the ballsy character portrayed by her favorite actor of the technicolor screen. 

Well, she thought she was courageous when she was 13 and looking at it from the perspective of a girl still living with her parents, just starting High School in a very small town. Now, she thought the woman was kind of spineless and the older male in the relationship was kind of a predator, taking advantage of an innocent. But maybe it was really all about perspective. 

Take her and Adrian. Adrian was downright bossy. Most times Katie didn’t mind just going along with it, without much of a strong preference, but some days she just felt like punching him in the eye. Especially when he just didn’t have any respect for anything outside his limited realm of understanding.

“Um, it’s a classic? Hello? Or do you not have any appreciation of cinema?”

“Didn’t I take you to see the latest Bruce Willis/Sylvester Stalone movie?” Cue laugh track…


“What do you think?” Hannah said with big, expectant puppy eyes. 

Shauna had no choice but to break it to her softly.. “It all seems very… meta.” Hannah looked like she was about to cry. “I mean, a movie inside a sitcom? I just don’t know if the audience is ready for that kind of thing.”

Hannah was ready to justify her actions, “But see, we’ll have the same actors and the audience will notice all these parallels…” She could see that her girlfriend was lost on the concept. “Never mind. I’m never really sure why I let you read the script before I submit it. I only end up doubting myself.” 

Shauna felt bad that she came of like such a critic. She didn’t see any reason to sugar coat it for Hannah. Hannah was such a wide eyed doe, sometimes, all spindly awkward legs and spotted coat. Shauna did feel a need to protect her, but that was why she was honest to a fault. She didn’t want Hannah to get caught by surprise. 


“See Henry, that’s why I don’t get it. Because you’re not an actual lesbian, how are you going to write a story about a lesbian relationship.” Colt came into Henry’s office, with the manuscript in his hand, his reading glasses still perched on his nose. Even though Colt was a decade younger than Henry, he often seemed like the older of the two with the way he carried himself. 

“Well, I write gay fiction. So I just thought there was a whole other half of the audience that I wasn’t pandering to. I mean just the other day I was talking to one of the mom’s at Braiden’s daycare and she said I should try it, since she was so enamored with my last book. She says it’s an untapped market for me.” Henry’s wasn’t too certain on the idea, but wasn’t sure what to follow up with after his last big hit. No new ideas of his own were really flooding in. 

Colt looked at him, “So am I supposed to be Shauna then? A bully who just treats you like crap and you’re a delicate little deer in the headlights?”

“Stop being so literal…” Henry said, already smelling the fight ahead of him. He came around the desk and grabbed Colt’s arm holding the manuscript, and pulled him close. 

Colt thought he might cry, but instead leaned his forehead on Henry’s shoulder and sighed, saving the fight in him for another day.


And this is what your friendly neighborhood blogger writes when her own life doesn’t have a vast amount of action currently going on, just a little conceptual fiction on the fly from the hip.