Bacon Bits

In addition to novels, short stories, screenplays, and essays, I write the occasional poem, commentary, and prose piece that I can't figure out if I want it to be a short story, a short short, or a novel. This space is where I'll give you a taste of those works. Every once in a while, I will update this page with other freebie pieces!

Storytelling Genesis

In the beginning, there was an image,
and it was good.

On day one, the image stirred you,
wrestled with your psyche, and evoked
emotions that had lain dormant. You
carried that image, like a baby
pic in a wallet, pulling it out to show
others as you smiled – the proud parent.

On day two, like a journalist, questions
flowed from your mind –
who this image,
what this image,
when this image,
where this image,
how this image,
why this image,
until whole humans formed in your mind,
their eyes vibrant blue or brooding brown,
their limbs movable,
their minds full of angst and yearning,
just the things good stories
are made of.

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Out back of my house, there is a clothesline. When we don’t want to be stifled by the heat of the dryer, we put our wet clothes there. On strong summer days when the sun beats down on backs and a stiff breeze blows, we pin up jeans and tees, dresses and shirts, to be whipped about and dried in God’s dryer. We bunch small corners of the clothing and pinch them onto the line with wooden clothespins. Along the green wire line, thirty clothespins stand at attention, holding tight to the fabric its job is to hold on to, to keep from falling below.

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The First Time Rush

The first time I did it, everything inside me went electric.

I sat on the edge of my bed, rocking, mumbling something unintelligible.

Tears fell from my chin and hit my denim-clad thighs.

My left hand gripped a steak knife I kept in the back of my panty drawer. Three times, I’d
taken it out, pressed it hard against my skin, ran my tongue over the blade, willed the urge to act to come forward.

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