Banish me to a dark corner, chain me to a keyboard, and I will gladly be a word slave. I'd sit there all day, with only an occasional demand for a coffee break.
I'm a would-be (wanna be) author, middle aged, fairly repressed, but extremely BLESSED with an amazing wife and two brilliant boys.
For several years, I've been haunted by images of the starving, drug addicted, victimized teens of the streets. I write about them a lot.
Rummaging, clawing through contents at the bottom of a flimsy sports bag, searching for cold metal, too impatient and too hurting to find another place, Drew glanced at the small green structure before him. One more quarter would buy him fifteen minutes in that smelly green sanctuary, but […]
He crossed the street with the school on it and was suddenly captured by the sight of a skinny teen – probably sixteen or so – approaching the same intersection. He slowed down as he and the teen drew closer. He was struck initially by how displaced the […]
A long tunnel amplified the little girl’s scream – her reaction to the fast approach of her pursuers. She quickly wound her way to the tunnel’s end, her Converse clad feet landing on a torn up, rubberized surface, and then she sprinted fast, hoping to find some […]
He was on the bus, and he – no, he was driving the bus – Never driven a bus before – down Market Street, and everybody on the bus was shouting at him because he kept blowing past the stops Have no idea where I’m going. And nothing […]
It was a rare time in San Francisco when the streets were nearly empty. It was an hour that was too early for pedestrians, too early for drivers, or anybody else without a bit of wildness in their blood – and for the crazies, the dealers, the junkies, […]
In describing a particular character from the story, I was reminded of this writing from a couple years ago. Gravity in reverse compels me to move to paste together words never seen before that echo an enchanted melody that rides upon a music older than earth and stone, existing, not […]
Neither dying hope nor dwindling beauty occupied the attention of the boy sitting on a bench across the pond from the Palace of Fine Arts. He didn’t waste a worry on these things, partly due to his age, but mostly because on this day, he was not alone. […]
