Fiction, and other made-up stories
Title and tagline for my new book. Does this work? Make you curious? I would love honest feedback, as always. Girl Island is done. It’s edited, been through several sets of eyes, refined over and over. There’s always more to do though, isn’t there? And that’s okay. You have to do the hard work. ______________________________________________________________________________ […]
<Part I> <Part II> <Part III> But in time, the paintings ended. They had reached such a level of complexity and strangeness that there appeared to be nothing further Drew could add. The paintings lay in his dorm room, a forest of unmitigated oddness, consigned to the available spaces as Drew made his way around […]
<Part I> <Part II> Drew took it upon himself to inform me of his mother’s condition at random times, as though to minimize any possibility of overlong discussion. In the middle of class, he’d reach over, “She’s on an experimental drug and says it makes her smell like garlic”, or “The doctors have cleared her […]
<Part I here> But Drew’s true love had been physics. He’d sit in the library, teaching me everything he knew on the subject under a bronze lamp. It had been more than enough to get me through my classes, but he’d never stopped pushing into that world, the one where the smallest things combined […]
How I came to know that Drew Ramos regularly went to other worlds was nothing more than a bookmark nestled in a Harry Potter book (the sixth one, I think) that came spinning out when I happened to knock the book off an end table. Drew was the type who would re-read Harry Potter […]
I am black. Oh rota, the blank person who walks beside me, what are you saying? That you want candy? We walk into a store, and it’s full of black people, how black they are and how perfect, but beside me is a blank person and he (or she) is nothing at all. […]
<Part I> <Part II> <Part III> <Part IV> Hank is in the basement, but he’s not drinking. In the shadows at the corner of the basement, two eyes are watching him, but there’s no other details there. Hanks imagines that it’s the smell of the whiskey that’s impregnated the crates that makes him find […]
<Part I> <Part II> <Part III> <last part tomorrow> Maria wishes she’d known that she could pick a seat. As it is, she’s by a window, just on top of the wing. Flying starts off like driving in a car, in a taxi cab perhaps, with a driver who likes to go too fast. […]
<Part I here> <Part II here> There is a duck that comes to the pond. It likes to sit on the shore to watch the white swan. Minshu is an early-riser, a bird that likes to get the blood moving by circling the middle of the pond, where he saw a boat once […]
<Part I here> I am a door, thinks Maria. An opening and a closing at the same time, and the static moments in-between when you are not moving – when you are either inside or outside, baked in the sun or chilled by the ice storm. But I am […]
