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Progression of a Writer; Day 28

It was a Friday afternoon. Richard had noticed that events were cowards: they didnt occur singly, but instead they would run in packs and leap out at him all at once. –Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere This website, and even more specifically this blog, was intended to catalog my personal creative work. However, today and possibly again […]

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Progression of a Writer; day 24

The following note was written in April of last year. I can no longer recall where I was and who I was with. Do we become disconnected from our past? Or does it continue to haunt our present? I sit here contemplating if I am in fact wasting time. If I should be doing something […]

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Friday

You wake up thirty minutes later than usual. It’s Friday, life is good, and the morning is here! The dishes in the sink aren’t a hassle to clean, their chatter as they are washed and stacked mingle together with the songs of sparrows outside the window. They seem ever excited for the new day and […]

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Running on Shuffle

Abel’s eyes grew heavy. He could feel the blood pump rhythmically through the tender skin of his eyelids, every beat adding a pound of weight. He wanted nothing more than to give in to the weight, let those tiny doors shut him into the darkness, and have them be locked tight by long tangled lashes. […]

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Colorblind, hue #2

I wanted to know the name of every stone and flower and insect and bird and beast. I wanted to know where it got its color, where it got its life – but there was no one to tell me. -George Washington Carver “Five…” Jake slurred out the word, his hands getting sweating as his […]

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The mission of a story.

I wanted to write something different. Something that you could later describe to a friend as quirkey or weird. Anything really. As long as it was not ordinary. As long as it stayed away from that black spot of the human mind where things are lost, hiding behind the affirming nods and understanding smiles. It’s […]

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Darkness

She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. The door was colored white, but she could see through the exposed scars the original grain of the wood. Through the door was black. Calling it “dark” would be an understatement. It seemed she had found the negative […]

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