I wrote a short piece yesterday that I thought I was going to share today, but it’s glaringly obvious that I’ve written it all wrong AND I know what I need to do to fix it (two things that rarely come hand in hand) so I’m going to hold off on sharing it.
Today, I wrote largely uninspiring things in my journal for twenty minutes, but I did like this bit:Read More »
“How are you?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
How many times a day do you participate in this exchange? How meaningless does it feel? “How-are-you-I’m-fine” is essentially a long-form “Hello.” It’s not meant to convey any actual expression of internal emotion.Read More »
… I am a problem solver.
Not in the actually being able to fix problems kind of way. In the I-hear-a-problem-and-I-feel-compelled-to-take-responsibility-for-fixing-it kind of way.Read More »
The yard is overgrown since Dad left. I took for granted the even grass and smooth hedges. I assumed the roses always bloomed and the leaves blew away in the wind. These things are not true. The roses bloomed because Dad spoke to them, fertilized them, trimmed their branches just so. The leaves, without the ministrations of Dad’s rake, gather in the corners of the house and huddle against the lawn furniture in moldering piles. The grass has become patchy and uneven, announcing loudly to the whole neighborhood which of our sprinkler heads need replacing. Tendrils sprout from all sides of the hedge, stretching aimlessly into the empty sky.Read More »
“Water.” Erin spoke without opening her eyes. Her voice rasped and hissed through her dry throat, but Dean could still hear a touch of the old imperiousness underneath.
“Always bossing me around, aren’t you big sister?” he said as he held the straw against her cracked lips. She gave a faint smile before taking a sip. She swallowed rough and slow before opening her eyes to look at him.Read More »
It all started with that trip to Home Depot. Jared and I stood in the paint department, fighting over what color to paint the dining room, for hours.
I wanted a nice neutral color—an eggshell or beige. Something that would open the space up, let us get creative with the smaller details. I wanted the room to feel light and welcoming and elegant.Read More »
The whir of the furnace drowned out Marc’s words. Lindsay shook her head, frowning. I can’t hear you.
Marc gave her an annoyed look and continued talking. Now she can hear the occasional word. “… this time … away with it … too many chances … not again …”Read More »