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Big Sur
The long stretch of highway hugs the red-rocked cliffside. The land plummets dramatically like a lone lemming into the sea. It’s grand; it’s overwhelming. My tongue forgets its purpose and my words return to the cloistered halls of the mind. The view requires capitulation and I’m here once more to submit. It’s been 18 years…
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Letter to a Younger Self
You missed all the signs because they never appeared the way you wanted them to. You jostled from one side to the other, looking for anyone to tell you what to do. You searched for someone speaking a language you understood. Not the tongue of your elders—their words cracked the skin on your lips. And…
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A Momentary Return to Boredom
Picture Albert Camus sitting with his elbows dug into a marble cafe table and his nose buried in a cell phone. His notebook is empty, with its clean pages staring toward the sky. His pen remains untouched. Think of Pablo Picasso resting on a weathered stool at the foot of a cluttered easel. A large…
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The Dark Spots of Memory
It was a warm Saturday afternoon when my partner walked through our front door with a box in hand. I sat in a chair by the window while post-exercise endorphins danced pirouettes around my head. The B-side of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours played on the turntable. My gaze slid from everywhere to nowhere, lost in the…
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Astoria, NY & Steinway Street
I stepped out of the car and into a confluence of familiar scents. My foot was still injured—busted by a bruiser in a jiu-jitsu competition—so I gave Neil a pound and slammed the car door behind me. I had four hours to kill before my flight back to Denver from LaGuardia, leaving just enough time…
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The Battle to Truly Listen
For much of my life, I’ve been a poor listener. I wasn’t actively ignoring the thoughts of others, but rarely did my ideas take a back seat to their words. If I did allow someone else to lead the conversation, it was only to momentarily gather my thoughts before attempting to drive home a point.…
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Balancing Act
The steel girder juts out high above the ravine, like a tightrope suspended between mountains. The river carves an ancient path beneath the bridge, aided by the snowmelt from our unusually mild winter. February’s sky is sleepy and thick, and its matte gray surface appears to swallow any ray of sunlight. My best friend is…
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Writing Prompt: High School Days
This piece is from a creative writing prompt exploring the chaotic feelings from one’s high school days. We were just kids, scared to death of our own shadows and unsure of who actually controlled them. We cast them against walls, projections of what we hoped others would see. We claimed them as ours, but the…
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The Green Spark of Envy
The green spark of envy—a feeling I despise but can’t seem to shake. It arrives when I encounter another’s work leaping from the page like some lyrical sculpture. I want their cogency, their craftwork, and every damn bit of their patience. My jealousy, my envy—I want it gone. Bury it deep below the foreign sands…
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Writing Prompt: Fiction Piece
The following is a short fiction essay crafted from a writing prompt about the moon: Last night, the moon seemed to say something. “Follow me,” its cool light beckoned. I stood up and peered out the window. “This way,” it called, and like a man under hypnosis, I grabbed only what I needed and walked…
Stirring Point 