Chasing Waterfalls 

I'm coming home from my wanderings.  Briefly.  I'm sure I'll head back out soon.  I'm too restless not to.  But what a week for it.  Aside from Earth Day (if you haven't planted something yet, get on it), Friday was the birthday of my main man of the mountains, John Muir, a major advocate for …

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Creative Writing Friends…send me your work.

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 …

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Post-Apocalyptic Poster Child: The Salton Sea Chronicles, Part 3

Last October, seismologists discovered a second fault line running parallel to the San Andreas, cutting right through the Salton Sea. Which means things may get a lot shakier than they already are. And so, at the risk of having California's next great natural disaster placed on my shoulders, and at the plea of a couple …

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Ladybug, Ladybug, Fly Away Home: The Salton Sea Chronicles, Part 2

There's one restaurant here. Aside from a Jack in the Box and a sandwich shop that looks closed, but no one can be entirely certain. No one remembers eating there, and although the sign at the door says open, there are no cars in the lot, or any signs of life, for that matter. It …

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Puke on a Hot Sidewalk: The Salton Sea Chronicles, Part 1

Puke on a hot sidewalk.  This is the smell of the Salton Sea. Rotten eggs, perhaps, is a more familiar notion. In 1906, attempts to bring water into the Imperial Valley from the Colorado River failed, and a strange little ocean was born in the desert. Contractors didn't account for the massive buildup of silt, …

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In the Now.

Sometimes, when I'm tired, and this world is a little too much for me to take (which, to be honest, is quite often these days) I like to play amongst the flowers. I like to tread, barefoot, through the grasses, allowing the thorns to catch in the lining of my dress, implant themselves into the …

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Road Side Reflections

Her eyes are tired. Her face is like the desert landscape, like the canyons carved away by eroding wind and sand, the wrinkles make fine grooves upon her skin. She stands beneath the roadside stand, fanning herself with a bronzed hand, the ensuing breeze she creates playing at her stark, black hair that reflects the …

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