15-minute Writing Session

My little sister hung onto her handlebars with their streaming ribbons. "Maddie, it's fine. It's just an old house." A window shutter slapped the siding, making both of us jump. Maddie worried gaze begged me to lead us down the street and closer to home. "It's just the wind." The afternoon sun gradually dimmed to its rosy dusk color. "Sure it is, Howie."

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Journal Excerpt

"You have every reason to be," Mom said, "but you also have every reason to do this for you. You're  the reason you're here." Renowned composers and musicians' names were etched in the practice room's wood paneling. I played many of their pieces, listened to hundreds of concerts, and now I sat in the very halls where some of them studied.  That could be me, I thought. 

Journal Excerpt

“These are people,” I replied.      I felt suffocated as we stood over the whole wedding reception. Surely Trent listened in somewhere.      Kass’s lip twitched then she raised her champagne glass until the bubbly drink disappeared.      “Half-people, my dear,” Kass said, hand her glass flute to a passing waiter. “They’re half-human.”

The American Midwest

The American Midwest is a flat, dry landscape offset by the occasional farm or tree line border between properties. Speed limit signs decorate the interstate as the lane lines stretch on for infinity. You can see the stars at night. Voluminous clouds skate through the expansive sky during the day. Now, we travel in enclosed metal caravans like our pioneering ancestors before us. Only now, instead of pilgrimaging to a new life, we’re traveling to visit Aunt June or compete in a regional softball tournament.

15-Minute Writing Session

The sun beat down on the backyard. Grass, which usually felt soft and soothing under our bare toes, felt scratchy and stiff that day. Maggie picked at the wood pile for the fire ring beside the shed. Her chipped painted nails chipped at the dry logs' bark. I brushed anthills away with the tip of a stick.