You Call It Coffee

I don't get it. You never took the covers before. You never minded about my snoring, about my restless legs. I peek at you with one eye. Your long hair fans out against my pillow. Your perfumed shampoo claws my nostrils. Do I complain? No. "Out!" You give me the shout-and-shove. "Your breath stinks," you say.… Continue reading You Call It Coffee


Zer0flash Fiction: Absolute Camouflage Assignment from Zer0flash: create spine-tingling flash fiction inspired by this tranquil video of a dam in Cambridge. Absolute Camouflage  The lake floor was crusted over with garbage and cans and the slimy brown bones of a dying tree. Long, leafy willow locks writhed over the water's edge, and even the gentlest breeze could slough… Continue reading Zer0flash Fiction: Absolute Camouflage


Zeroflash Fiction: Rampart

He studies her. Must be she's grading stories because her smile ebbs and flows. His heart's been slogging through the desert for years and now this-- mirage, his new team teacher. Like all mirages, getting too close strikes the vision, and he very badly wants to keep her. She's absent to the aura of her… Continue reading Zeroflash Fiction: Rampart

fiction, on writing

Zeroflash Fiction: Chernobyl Romantics

On this journey to publishing my novel I often take little tangents, usually in the form of writing competitions. I love the immediacy of the feedback and the stretching prompts. Zeroflash's August competition garnered me an honorable mention from the talented Jan Kaneen. I can't tell you how uplifting it is to have a writer whose work I… Continue reading Zeroflash Fiction: Chernobyl Romantics

fiction, on writing, Personal Journey

Be a Flasher

Not that kind of flasher, naughty bird. A flash fiction writer. Why should I be a flash fiction writer? You ask. I'm glad you did. Flash fiction forces several wondrous talents upon you: Economy of language. Full-bodied plot in a tiny, weeny package. A stretch into new genres, styles, content.* Opportunity for you to turn… Continue reading Be a Flasher


Flash Fiction: The Writing on the Wall

Shem's last straw as maintenance man was the locker room. "Not touching that." "Shem, you don't get to choose what you clean around here. Either get going on that or... get going." His boss thumbed toward the exit sign. Shem got. No way was he going to scrub a floor-to-ceiling mural of excrement. A cashier… Continue reading Flash Fiction: The Writing on the Wall