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  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    This is a love story. There’ll be a boy and a girl, and a swing set. The swing set is where they’ll meet, she with the gaggle of kids she’s nannying for this summer, he with the thick glasses and the textbook for a science-y class, physics, maybe, or biology. The littlest kid will run up to he...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    We’ve barely met, we’ve exchanged names, maybe where we’re from, but across the room I feel you watching me, wondering. You’ve heard I work words, a white collar weaver, well-mannered welder, of sorts, though they call me writer. You smile, because you sense what’s inside my head,...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    When I stepped onto the scale and it read 169.8 pounds I nearly flew off of it. My heartbeat quickened. I felt the way you feel when you look over the edge of a tall building, or you’re sitting on a ledge with you’re feet dangling out. For a moment there was no floor. But the next moment I w...
  • Hot Topics > Pride & Prejudice
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    If I were a food, I've frequently been told, I would be a Double Stuf Oreo. This comparison is not based on me being appealing, loveable, good with kids, or even generic, as I originally thought before I heard a student mutter it under her breath in sixth grade. I was one of the good kids who di...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    He had killed a butterfly once, just to spite her. She didn’t think that butterflies ever died, and they’d just float on forever and ever, and no one would ever try to hurt them. “Why do ya think that?” He asked frowning in the way that crinkled up his eyebrows and nose, and poking out h...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I’ll admit it. It’s slightly embarrassing, but I’ll admit it. I have a mantra. No, this doesn’t mean I’m a crazy, chanting, incense burning, bra-less hippie. It also doesn’t make me a yogi, though I won’t deny doing the occasional pilates DVD. I’m definitely not a Buddhist, a cast me...
  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    There’s just something about the way I feel sitting on my roof. It’s the closest I ever come to thinking about nothing. My eyes just follow the birds as they fly back and forth, as my fingers trace tiny circles over the shingles. It’s less work up there, being, I mean. I don’t have to talk, ...

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