I’m alone again. Toby is out on patrol. I accepted that he was a police officer when he asked me to marry him two years ago. I accept that he puts his life in danger every day for public safety. I accept that the men and women he works with on the police department are, as he says, “his family.”
But I am not accepting his third stint in three months of the late night shift.
“I think we need to return,” he whispered in her ear. An ear he knew so well, shell-shaped and as pink as a wish.
“No!” she protested. “We’re safe here. Let’s just roam.”
His smile, small and protective, told her everything she needed to know.
“It’s okay, you know. It’s okay the way things are,” he assured her. Continue reading
© Shelley Steinle, illustrator.
A year ago I lost my purr.
At the time, I didn’t think of it that way. I was suffering the side effects of a concussion. All summer long I’d been unable to enjoy the activities that helped me feel fulfilled.
What’s a writer-woman to do? Continue reading
It’s an open secret that dreams reveal our innermost worries and joys, fears and, perhaps, even our future.
So when Sue woke up last night at 3:23 a.m. feeling as if she’d just popped out of a virtual reality show, she knew what she had to do.
She waited impatiently until the bank opened at 9. Continue reading
IF IT DIDN’T SOUND SO CRAZY, I’D WRITE a story about a mermaid and a farmer.
IF IT DIDN’T SOUND SO CRAZY, I’D WRITE an essay on a magical moving pen.
IF IT DIDN’T SOUND SO CRAZY, I’D WRITE a book about a ghost with a moving murmur.
IF IT DIDN’T SOUND SO CRAZY, I’D WRITE a tale about a wolf and a wren who share a den. Continue reading
