Here you will find my writing both prose and poetry.
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Note that these are all works of fiction purely from my imagination. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead or any actual events is purely coincidence.
Her name was Laurel just like the flowers that covered the mountains in the spring. Her face told the story of her life, every wrinkle a new chapter, every line contained a tale. She was old as the mountains and as young as the buds on the trees. On warm days you could see […]
She could feel the hunger growing as she stood in front of the restaurant window looking at the tables full of aromatic gourmet food. Her eyes darted from table to table, searching, until she found what she had come for. There he sat wearing a nice Armani suit tailored to fit his muscular frame. His
There was one way in and one way out of town and that was the railroad. They liked to say there was one way in and one way out of the mines too but I didn’t like thinking on that much. My daddy had worked for the mines my whole life and I didn’t want
Coal Camp Stranger Read More »
For those of you who read my blog, you know I like to do these little vignettes or scenes as a writing exercise. I like to share them and get your input. Here is one I did for today. This first appeared on EclecticEvelyn.com before I migrated all my writing to this site.
Should She Stay or Should She Go? Read More »
She pushed her hand into her bag to touch the gun. She always brought it with her as she watched. Not sure if she would ever have the courage to use it but knowing deep down that it might actually be her savior one day. Her savior, like she had thought him to be.
Silhouettes on the Shade Read More »
Ever heard a panther scream? Sounds like a woman screaming. Maybe that’s where the story of banshees comes from. Maybe it’s the wind howling through the cracks in the frame that make that howling noise. The wolf panting at the door. Let me in or I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down. Down or
“Impress me with your knowledge of the law” Mr. Johns whispered pressing her up against the bookshelves, running his hand up her thigh. She laughed uncomfortably knowing that if she planned on ever becoming a partner she had to put up with Mr. Johns and the rest of the good old boys club. How much pressure
“I tire so easily now, It must be the weather” She knew it wasn’t the weather. It was her life. So mundane and full of redundant days and ridiculous people. He looked at her over the top of the newspaper with disdain. As if she was a petulant child demanding attention. At least, he showed
