How do you talk about a sunset, without sounding like every conversation about sunsets? At the market, the checker she says, The sunset is beautiful—I love that I can watch it from this window. I say, Oh yes, the colors are stunning. Those pinks, those yellows. Then, when I get home, my mother-in-law, she says, …
Sometimes, I imagine what it must be like to be buried underground. When I miss my cousin terribly, I think about rolling back the grave grass like a carpet. Like a blanket, or a sheet. I could unbury him, and watch the ground unfurl. When I was little, I was captured by the story of …
Continue reading The Graveyard
Today, I placed my forehead on the keyboard and typed the letter j a hundred times. With my nose. The tip of it. Something soothing in the motion. I never loved the letter j and yet here I am, a stream of jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjs across the page. I was supposed to water my grandmother’s roses today, …
Continue reading A Haunted House and Dying
The Northridge Review is shifting to an online literary magazine. We are accepting work from writers across all genres, fields, what have you. I'm the Prose Editor for the Spring Edition, and I'd love to see your stuff. Send me your weird, eclectic, unconventional writings. Make my skin crawl. Give me nightmares. Or, just tell …
Continue reading Creative Writing Friends…send me your work.
The Wild Heart of Life 