Sometime last month, I decided that I didn’t want to write anymore. Why? Well, to tell the truth, writing has done nothing for me over the last couple years except to feed my feelings of inadequacy and guilt. It has made me feel, in order: Incompetent, lazy, unsympathetic, rude, dull, stupid and, of course, ridiculous for believing I could possibly ever rise to the level of skill I wanted.
Bill always used too much dish soap, and the scent of lemon overpowered the Old Spice. “I didn’t tell her, of course,” she said. “Mom’s got enough on her plate.”
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She didn’t answer. Her eyes were shut. Sean couldn’t remember the last time his grandma was awake when he visited her, but it was a long time ago. Certainly a year, at least. She sure did sleep a lot.
He never spoke; it was forbidden. From the time he was born, he was trained to lead the faithful to the walls of Aeliad, but he was to provide no words of comfort, nor tolerate the chatter of the masses.
The secrets of the church were not to be shared.
Is it just me, or does Google’s position on orphaned works sound a little like this:
1. I’m announcing to everyone that I’m going to rape your wife . . .
An old flash from a twenty-minute exercise, just for fun: See by Joseph Paul Haines You didn’t listen to me. Told you bitch. Told you, you credit card no cash whore. These your keys? Which one opens the door to 222 Central, like it says on your license? You keep cash there do you? Any jewelry? You should have listened [...]
Another snippet from a longer piece. Hope you enjoy. # She only let him roll his window down so far. It was just enough to get fresh air, though, and to keep his mother’s cigarette smoke streaming in a straight line above his head and out through the crack. “You have a good time at Grandma’s?” she asked. Johnny nodded. [...]
My contribution this week is actually a short section from a longer story. Hope you enjoy: Communion by Joseph Paul Haines Tanicia pulled the covers up to Jacob’s chin. Tomorrow was a big day. He needed a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow, her son would take the communion. Death would no longer stalk him. Jacob fidgeted until he freed his arms [...]
The sun was near the horizon and would would peek over the hills soon. Ground fog danced round their ankles and the damp earth floor of the forest sucked at the souls of her shoes with the sound of wet kisses. The scent of hibiscus filled the air.
