This week’s edition of A Creative Space features the start I wrote to my “practice novel”– the first novel I attempted writing. I realized that as much as I loved…
What Was He Thinking? A Photo Story He stood so still out on that cliff. People strolled by on the path–on the right track–paying no attention to this solitary figure…
(This week’s edition of A Creative Space features the end–the epilogue–to the very first novel I wrote called Wild Cherries. If you weren’t here last Monday, I call this my…
(This week’s edition of A Creative Space features the beginning–a prologue–to the very first novel I wrote called Wild Cherries. I call it my ‘practice novel’ lol. It will never…
Trust Me (Part II) (read Part I HERE) …Somehow, I landed in some deserted, hilly no-man’s land. It was not familiar at all, and I was doubly confused as I…
Trust Me The plane was nose-diving toward the ground. We were about to crash. Everyone around me, though, seemed oddly calm. Even Joe, who was seated next to me, seemed…
The artist has lived there all his life. Every day from noon until two, he comes out on his balcony and sketches. Gloom or sun, he is there each day.…
He knew his final days were approaching. The cancer had spread like wildfire in his body. But that isn’t what pained him most. What haunted him in early morning hours…
Although it was October, the sun scorched the earth and the heat suffocated any trace of an autumn breeze. Along the sidewalk she saw a mushroom sticking up among the…
A woman called to reserve the table. She called three days in advance. It was difficult to tell from the even tone of her voice what the occasion was, but…
At UCLA, one of my favorite things to do was watch the men’s basketball team practice. This was before they started closing practices. This story was written after one of…
They didn’t know. How could they have? In the darkness, there were so many faceless faces staring back at them. Hands reached up into the golden glow, waving and swaying…
There are millions of me. Literally, in this city there are over a million of me. People chase me away as if I’m just part of the garbage that lines…
Every day I hang them up when I come home. Mine on the left. Hers on the right, always a sign to me that she’s home. Waiting for me. But…
Every morning I put my hand on the cold metal rail, curling my fingers around it for security. But today I looked up and really saw for the first time…
The flowers are always beautiful. She keeps a flower box under every window. She prefers the bright yellows and oranges mixing with the deep purples and reds. The flowers make…
Every day. Even on Sundays. I paddle out to the sailboats parked just off shore. I take them to and from so they can shop and eat and gaze at…
They had just moved into the new home. She wasn’t sure about leaving the city. She loved the constant hum of car engines mixing with intermittent yells and honking. It…
He came down to the shoreline to meet her at the appointed time. He had suggested sunrise, secretly hoping it would lead to an entire day together. She had paused–ever…
Row upon row they stand, each one of equal size and shape. From afar, they all look the same, identical markers dotting the lawn. But they are not the same.…
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