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close your eyes and dream of days and nights
I haven’t written much here about my brother. It’s not because I have little to say; on the contrary, I feel words spilling over unless I hold myself very straight and stiff. Matthew is the sort of...
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Where I Grew Up: Portrait of a Small Alabama Town
I won’t romanticize where I grew up: there were some problems. The Blair Witch would consider the woods out back behind my house as being a little too wild. We have a nest of copperheads in my front...
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Creative Writing Exercise: Rockets
[This exercise was taken from "The 3 A.M. Epiphany" by Brian Kiteley in which you construct a 600 word short in which the protagonist uses a first-person noun only twice.] They’ve shown that rocket on...
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My Stupid Mouth: Job Interviews
Job interviews are a particularly dazzling example of why I shouldn’t be allowed to interact with other people. Nearly everyone hates them, even the ones doing the interviewing, and they’re pretty...
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A Matter of Perspective: POV WTF
I tried to write about what happened in Boston and I can’t. It feels appropriative to do so, when I’ve never been to Boston and I know only a few people who live there. So instead, I’ll just say that...
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Move In Day
We’re moving into the new house today. It’ll be memories returned and reframed, all right. Boxes and sweat and standing on the outside looking in. Mom and I both smelled smoke for the first time in...
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My First Kiss and the Circumstances Therein
I don’t tend to believe in omens, but my first kiss was so bizarre that I’m inclined to consider it the preview to a love life so weird that Tim Burton would make a movie of it. First kisses come in...
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On Accumulating Stuff and My Zen Thoughts of the Day.
This weekend was a dust-covered, sweaty, mash-your-fingers-in-a-door-jam mess. The insurance company delivered about 30 cardboard boxes of cleaned items that had been pulled from our collapsing house...
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Leash Laws: Into the Wild in Alabama
One of the most obvious differences between life in Orlando and Northern Alabama is the wildlife. It’s not that Orlando was an asphalt wasteland devoid of life that wasn’t in a Mickey costume. I saw...
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Shooting My Writer’s Block in The Face
Isn’t it funny how the longer you put off something, the more-petrifying it is to pick it back up? It’s as if any guilt I feel over procrastinating gets channeled instead into the idea of how awful it...
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