Natalie (Excerpt)

An excerpt from chapter three of the novel in progress. Introducing Natalie, a college aged conspiracy theorist struggling to identify what she actually wants, rather than what she knows is good for her. Enjoy 🙂

Stillness. Morning is still. Can’t it be morning all day? Quiet world, quiet house, quiet mind. The energy from the neighborhood hasn’t risen. I can’t pull myself away from my thoughts. Stephanie will wake up soon. I will need to use my voice to speak, use words, craft my sentences carefully. Phoenix says that language is a portal. It creates our reality. I am the creator of my reality. This kitchen table is my reality. This newspaper is a reality, not mine though. The news is not a part of me. Every year, everyday, we are a mess. World, we are a mess. Can one human being do anything to help it? I want to. I need to help myself, help my world. I am change and immersed in it. I believe in positivity. It is a beautiful day. I cannot invite that into my life. The news is entertainment. If I invite it into my life I will be a believing non-believer.

The sun funneling through the blinds is mine. It’s beautiful. I need to appreciate beauty like this–the light streaking into the house, across the living room and on the piano. Our white piano and the photographs, the painting, and the fern adorning it. Beams like that are two-dimensional, but not. Light and shadow. Flat but textured. That duality is perplexing. Am I dually textured? Androgynous? My voice is too sharp to be soft. My nose too pointed to not seek out perfume or fragrance. Flowers smell too feminine. I wear Old Spice. Where do my male expressions manifest? My hands are big, my feet are long, I have hair on my legs and I’d prefer to keep it there. I lap up the smell of aftershave. What about lavender or eucalyptus? Linda smells like lavender, it’s bittersweet. Is that feminine enough? What is it about her? Why am I so intrigued? If I could just touch her arm and feel her energy and the pulse her skin gives off. Am I woman or a being? So I move like one? What would it take, grace, poise? Do I have any appeal?

Judy (excerpt)

As promised, a line or two from the book in progress. I am pleased to introduce you to, Judy. This is the inside of her head.

“Walk to the waking, wade through the water. And there’s the drumming splashing against my toes, the heartbeat, and it’s painting everything magenta.  It’s painting the walls orange. And the texture is filling itself in. There are dots vibrating into paisley. There are faces growing into trees. The walls are trees and the floor is falling. I am running and where are my feet?”

Can’t Shake It

Some fiction for you folks. This is a story I started last fall–like all pieces of art, I feel it’s still growing, the characters are asking for more life, but I need new eyes to see it and for it to breathe before it enters another round of revision. Please let me know what you think. Enjoy!

Ed fixed his clear blue eyes on the brain and offered his free hand to the surgical assistant. She placed a pair of scissors into his palm. He nodded a silent thank you and slipped his fingers through the holes. Ed tried to mute his heavy breath underneath the surgical mask as moisture collected around his mouth and tiny beads of sweat, almost invisible, sat quietly on his nose. Ed had held these scissors for years, made the same incisions almost everyday, he could do this with his eyes closed, in his sleep even. The brain oozed under light, the grey matter pulsating beneath the patient’s skull, each nook and cranny of the organ bulging against the surgical equipment. Ed followed the thick veins along the mass, outlining the perimeter with his eyes, trying to determine where to make an incision. He loved the way tumors appeared, bubbled out of the brain like lava, screaming to him, “Release me!”

Continue reading “Can’t Shake It”