You haven’t spoken a word
Not once these twenty odd years
Although we’ve learned to read you
Like a book without a spine
It’s still a hit or miss affair
When we were but children
Vague emotions do I remember
Of times when we would play
We never really did get along, eh?
Or perhaps it was jealousy
But that soon turned to shame Continue reading
A few months ago, my 18-year-old had not only the incredible luck to nab tickets to the Daily Show with Jon Stewart, but also the thoughtful foresight to get tickets for my husband and me, too. It wasn’t Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. The child didn’t have to be nice. It was as if he might actually like to hang out with us, doing something cool. I was touched. I may have even daydreamed a moment of us together in line, being approached by the Humans of New York guy. Continue reading
I would love it if everyone wrote for fun. It doesn’t matter how terrible you think you are, or how tenuous your grasp of your chosen language. Just write! It’s a wonderful thing to see the dreams and fleeting thoughts in your mind take form, hewn out in the rough constructs of language. Yes, rough–for who has managed to perfectly represent the vivid clarity of our thoughts with words alone? But we try, and sometimes we come close enough to that representation to touch someone else’s heart, regardless of whether our words are the stick figure drawings of a child or the works of Michelangelo.
But it’s another world when one decides to take writing as their profession. One analogy I use often is that of a cook. I can throw together a meal that is edible and tastes somewhat decent–at least, decent enough that everyone doesn’t turn it down from the get-go. But place me within a professional kitchen and the other chefs will tell you that I am more likely to slice my finger than the onion, that I have no subtlety whatsoever with flavours (salt, salt, oh and a pinch of chicken salt for variety!), and that by the time I’ve got anything ready to serve, the customers will have tired of waiting and left the restaurant. Continue reading
These thoughts roll around in my head once in a while, especially when I’m feeling overwhelmed. When everything seems to be slipping out of your grasp, anyone would panic, right? Once you’re in that state, nothing seems to work, and days start to blur together. If you remain in an extended slump, all that you see is tainted with an ugly hue and motivation fades into a dull buzz in the background. There’s something else that you’d rather pit yourself against and a small voice in your head cries, “Get me out of here!”
That is a sure sign that something needs to be done. Continue reading
Every step resonated through my world, every word tolled like the great bells of London. You were the sky I aspired to reach, the limits I aspired to challenge. The limits, my mind whispered, that I could never hope to surpass.
For how does one swim better than a dolphin, or change the shifting of the tides, or explore the furthest reaches of space? How does one measure themselves against proportions physically impossible to achieve?
In your shadow, I found my security. You were a fortress, a reassuring presence that meant all was well. I didn’t have to worry. Knowing you went before was enough. Continue reading
The Last Policeman opens in March. Detective Hank Palace is a cop’s cop, one of those rare men who rises each morning knowing exactly why he’s here. That virtue, however, is about to become irrelevant. Maia, a massive asteroid formerly known as 2011GV(sub 1), is predicted to collide with Earth in October, with 100% certainty according to the news media. Maia will probably not strike Hank’s home of Concord, New Hampshire dead-on, but her impact is predicted to eradicate life on Earth as we know it. Continue reading
He was safe.
No phones would ring, no thieves could break in, no internet hackers would steal his identity.
Enclosed in his one-bedroom bungalow ten miles outside of Raleigh, Joe planned for everything.
He could still get around if need be. His handicapped-modified car allowed him to visit people and go to stores. But otherwise, he had a monthly standing order at the grocery store, and the people from social services would visit on the same day. Always the 3rd of the month.
“Hear what? That’s just the rain and wind. Nothing to be surprised about. It’s raining cats and dogs outside,” Andy replies and faces the television once again.
“No, that’s not it. It sounds like someone crying. Like a little kid sobbing right outside on our doorstep.” Continue reading
“I bet I know who did this,” I said, when I glimpsed the headline in the newspaper lying on my sister’s kitchen counter.
“Nobody did anything,” my sister said. “Animal Control said it came from the river. Someone probably got a baby alligator in Florida and dumped it when it got too big. It was looking for a warm spot.”