Tag Archives: Writing

The Party at the End of the Summer

It was oppressively hot, but it was worse inside. The idea for the party had been born earlier that month, straight out of the heatwave, full of desperate loneliness and braised, salted wounds. He had thought that the heat had … Continue reading

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The Summertime Blues

The summertime blues whisper to me, they caress and seduce, they ask Am I going to regret that?   Not taking them up on that offer. Am I going to regret what I’m doing to myself? Am I doing it … Continue reading

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A Montage

I suppose this is the end. My last blog. The last post I write, and the last one I publish. The last piece of writing I do for Ojai Valley School – the place that has taught me how to … Continue reading

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In the Dungeon

She was rotting away. She could feel it. Erasmus had left her there to rot. After everything. She was following what she believed to be best. He was the one who had taught her to do that. Her eyes were … Continue reading

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Am I a Bonafide Hipster?

Am I a living stereotype? This question occurred to me last night as I leaned against my kitchen counter. I had a bent copy of The Great Gatsby held lazily in my left hand, an uncapped, drying, pink highlighter in … Continue reading

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That Night

Steam clouds the windows. A flame wavers under the bulk of a teapot slowly growing discolored from the brewing tea. Jars of rice and pasta sit stoic behind the tea against the foggy window. The white tiles alight in a ring … Continue reading

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The Cupcakes (3)

Not a single tear escapes my eyes as I sit back up and slowly gain footing. “Is that all you need for now Madame Clarisse?” I ask, the pain becoming a cold and unwavering part of my voice. Madame Clarisse’s … Continue reading

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