Tag: writing

  • Rain

    The rain started coming down in waves.  I held my keys in one hand hoping to be able to make a mad dash for my car.  I needed to get home before the real thunder and lightning started.  If I was gone from home too long, I knew I would come home to a house that was completely destroyed. …

  • The Best Summer

    The best summer of my life was the summer I turned seventeen.  It was the summer I gained freedom from myself and my parents.  No one quite believed how miserable I was, but then again, I hadn’t been totally honest about what was happening at home.  Everything came to a head when I came home to find my…

  • Wild and Feral

    My dad always joked that I had grown up ‘wild and feral.’  I didn’t like to be inside and I didn’t like to wear shoes.  I just responded with the fact he shouldn’t have moved to a farm if he wanted me to be prim and proper.  That he shouldn’t have raised me as a tomboy.  I did wear dresses…

  • Attention

    “His mere presence demands attention,” the woman next to me whispered.  I looked back to the robed man pacing on the stage and wondered what I had gotten myself into.  I had signed up for a youth retreat, but it seemed a little more like a brainwashing than a yoga retreat.  It was fascinating and I couldn’t get enough.  The…

  • Losing

    “She appears to be alone,” I told Scott.  “You should go talk to her now before someone else does.  Only one person gets to talk to the new girl first.”    Scott kept staring, but when he got up, I was even shocked.  He was always nervous around the girls he was interested in, but maybe…

  • Mind Your Business

    My mother was always the mind your own business type.  The no-nonsense type.  She had a plan and she stuck to it.  I never knew how she could possibly fit so many tasks into one day.  I liked to take my time.  But that’s probably why I wasn’t nearly as successful as my mother.  At least not as successful as she would like me to…

  • Old-Fashioned

    “I am old-fashioned.  I can’t help it,” I heard the man at the table next to me telling the woman he was with about how sorry he was about opening the door for her.  I couldn’t help but listen as I waited for Garret to show up.  I was amazed that she was making such…

  • Dancing

    All I wanted to do was to get home and sit on my couch and not talk to anyone.  Being a backup dancer was exhilarating, but after nine months of constant touring, I was ready for a break.  The first two days home, I turned my cell phone to silent and rotated between my bed,…

  • Passion

    The passion in the artist’s eyes made me long for what I once had.  I once felt like I belonged to a group – to a community – but now I am not so sure.  It really started the weekend of my first “unofficial” show.  My then boyfriend (also a starving artist) had set me up…

  • Vulnerable

    “He is nothing but vulnerable so give him a break,” I said as I raised the axe above my head.  I heard the satisfying thunk of splitting wood and waited for Scott to respond.  “He is twenty-nine years old.  Time for him to grow up and get out.”  I sighed one of the millions of sighs I had when…