“They might say some things that are… offensive,” her mother told her. “We just want you to be ready in case they do.” Cara didn’t understand what that meant, or which word would be the word. She’d heard plenty of bad words, especially when her dad got frustrated when he was working on something in... Continue Reading →

“Closed in a room, my imagination becomes the universe, and the rest of the world is missing out.” ― Criss Jamie I only write in first person point of view. I've tried my hand at third person, but I struggle with seeing my stories from above, rather than through their eyes. I will read either... Continue Reading →

I have a confession. I played pretend well beyond what would've been considered appropriate. And I was never alone. My brother, whose memory bank held the lines of every movie ever created, was and would always be my number one playmate. We spent hours in our backyard wilderness--or the quarter acre of wooded bliss--crafting and... Continue Reading →

The first story I remember writing was in collaboration with my mom. I was sandwiched between two massive metal plates, Mom sitting in a chair to the side of my head, as my entire body was scanned for any cancerous blights on my bones. Patients must be still during the procedure in order to get... Continue Reading →

Whenever I write a love scene, I always consider that my mother might read it. What’s worse is that I consider what my mother might think of me after she does. Writing love scenes takes tact. Too graphic and you’re writing erotica, too prudish and it seems Puritanical, and if you’re not careful, your prose... Continue Reading →