Short Stories

Usually, I leave old stories untouched, letting them remain as little time capsules of where I was when I wrote them. But, as with my own version of Robert’s Rules, there’s nothing stopping me from revisiting one—distilling it down to its essence and writing it again. About seven months ago, I wrote a minimalist piece called Years of Sweet Laughter, born from an old trick to overcome writer’s block. Now, in a better flow with my craft, I decided to revisit it. I’d love to know your thoughts—feel free to drop a note in the comments below. Years of Sweet…

Marie tugged at the closet door, its hinges resisting like something unwilling to let go. Morning light angled through the window behind her, stretching into fractured beams that illuminated the dust. Rows of clothes hung undisturbed, their colors muted with disuse. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d reached for most of them. Her fingers drifted to the back of the closet, pausing on something soft. Pulling it free, she held up the sweater. Red once, its color had faded to something closer to rust, and the cuffs were threadbare, edges unraveling. The wool was lighter than she remembered, as…

Micah settled onto the bench, the wood rough and uneven beneath him. It shifted under his weight, the faint creak breaking the quiet. The air smelled of rust and damp earth, thick with the weight of long-settled time. Above him, the sign for Haven Crossing hung crooked, its letters faded to a reddish blur. He stared down the tracks, where the rails dissolved into the pale haze of the horizon. For a moment, he let himself imagine it: the train emerging from the distance, the faint hum of its approach traveling through the ground. Andre would step off, his bag hanging loose…

After focusing mainly on poetry over the past few years, I’m really enjoying diving back into short stories—creating worlds and exploring them in new ways. My last two stories (Beatrice Never Leaves and Silently Seeking Soles) began as quirky true events that I stumbled across online, and this one is no different. Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction: when I came across an article about a kidnapped emotional support alligator, misplaced and set loose in a Georgia swamp, I thought, Now, there’s a story! As you know, I love telling stories from unusual perspectives. So here’s my take on…

Yesterday, I wrapped up a short story that has been simmering for a mere 25 years. It all started with a bizarre true story about a taxidermist who fell in love with a badger he was preserving—yes, really. That story became Beatrice Never Leaves, a dark, haunting look at obsession and the things we just can’t let go of. But, based on your lovely feedback, I decided to shift gears and try moving my pacing from decades to under 24 hours. While scrolling through recent headlines, I came across a gem of a story: a Greek man convicted for repeatedly…

This story has been percolating in the back of my mind for years. It’s based on a bizarre, real-life event I came across about 25 years ago—about a taxidermist who fell in love with a badger he was preserving. I wanted to explore why he did it, and while I tapped into his obsession, I never really thought of how ‘Beatrice’ (that’s the name he gave to the badger) might play a bigger role in the story. Earlier today, I was wrapping up a post on my other Brittle Views website where I explore storytelling, creativity, and the intersection of…

Over the last few years, writing poetry has been my primary creative outlet, but that wasn’t always the case. There was a time when I focused more on writing short stories, with dreams of seeing them published in prestigious magazines like GQ, The Atlantic, and Granta. This was back when I was running The Final Carrot, an online writing group I founded in the late 90s. I’d set weekly writing assignments, with submissions being posted online. One of the goals was to create a nurturing environment for growth and creativity, so members were encouraged to provide both supportive feedback and…

As I’ve been cleaning up and categorizing my written work (poetry, short stories, personal histories, and assorted essays), I sometimes come across something that I want to brush the dust off, and share more widely. One technique that I’ve successfully used to overcome writer’s block is to open up a favorite book at a random page, and use the last full sentence at the bottom of the page as a jumping off point for a short story or poem. A variant of that has been to use a snippet of song lyrics, and I think that this is where this…

Over the last few years, I’ve found myself writing more poetry than short stories. That wasn’t always the case, but increasingly, I find that when I put fingers to keyboard, it’s poetry that comes out. When I used to run The Final Carrot (an online writer’s collective that I cofounded around 20 years ago), there was one technique I’d sometimes use to overcome writer’s block, and that was to open up a favorite novel at a random page, and take the last sentence as a starting point for something new. The following short story was seeded with a random sentence…

“A howling wind that blows the litter as the rain flows As street lamps pour orange colored shapes through your windows A broken soul, stares from a pair of watering eyes Uncertain emotions force an uncertain smile” Uncertain Smile, The The Each day, he was there. If it wasn’t in the morning when she pulled back her drapes, it was later in the evening; either when she checked that all of the doors were securely locked, or as she closed the drapes before finally getting into bed. It had been almost a week since Carol had first learned of his…