I didn’t really feel like writing about Medieval times or foul-mouthed folks today, so I found my way to the Hippocratic Oath.
Kids can’t hold their breath for shit, but I had the lung capacity of an adult (30-90 seconds) by middle school.
I feel like I’m doing the writing equivalent of exfoliating—sloughing off the half-realized ideas to get at the smooth, fresh meat of what I really want to write.
It became the beach, and two friends looking from their tiny, cozy world into the vastness of space.
When the prompt for the second day of Flash Fiction February was “focus,” tilt-shift photography was the first thing that came to mind.
Lexi turned back to her computer and flicked the touchpad a few times. A cursor beckoned to her from the blank rectangle of the text editor. Ignoring the design work with its lurking deadline, she began to type.
November seemed so much further away, yesterday.
Music production, it seems, is a bit of a production.
Stain your kiss with a promise.
I needed another thing to make me feel like an outcast.