Tag: creative-writing
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Refuse to Quit
She had no standing. No invitation. Absolutely no business being there. She walked in anyway. I’ve confused institutional pressure with correction, leaving the room believing I was the problem. I’m still discovering the difference between humility and surrender. New post. Short. Honest. And straight to the point. Link in the comments. Five Minute Observations.
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Fighting for My Writing at Midnight
The coffee shop clock blinks an angry red glow—11:47 PM. My freelance article sits unfinished, due in eight hours. My finger hovers over the ChatGPT app. Three taps and I’m done. But fifteen years ago, a college professor taught me why shortcuts always backfire.
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Good Neighbors Gone Bad
“She said WHAT? Who says that?” “Hold on, they’re sayin’ somethin’ about meat…” “Attention shoppers, we have a special on Chuck roast, three ninety-nine a pound—” “Okay, I’m back. Yeah. Beth straight up tells her the check ain’t good till Monday!” “Lord, Crystal, that’s exactly the kind of mess I got tired of. Nobody in…
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Liquid Rocket Fuel
⚽ Twelve 8-year-olds + 200mg of caffeine + one mortified coach = the best bar story you’ll hear today. Trust us, you want to hear how this ends.
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Rule One: Know What You’re Walking Into
Evening at Gemini’s, the hanging filament bulbs give an amber glow to the inside of the bar. Low-level laughter and conversation echoed through the establishment. A platinum-blonde strolled in. Not a care in the world, she popped her gum, sounding like the poppers adolescent boys threw at each other on the 4th of July. Tossing…
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The Post
One post. One friend. A lifetime of trust—shaken. When Gwen sees Rob’s inflammatory social media post, it’s not just political—it’s personal. The Post explores how a single moment online can fracture years of friendship, and asks: can we still reach across the divide before silence becomes permanent?
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Truth Is Always Stranger than Fiction
A late-night traffic stop becomes a reminder: storytelling connects us, grounds us, and makes us known. In a world of strangers, our stories are how we find our way home.
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Timing. It’s EVERYTHING!
Trying to write in the later part of the afternoon or early evening is super hard for me. I function so much better in the morning. All my creative energy is focused on the time of day when it makes the most sense. Not that I cannot be creative later in the afternoon. But I…
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Scouting for a Video Project
A thick layer of dust coated a covered loveseat. It wasn’t the only piece of furniture in the room. There was a stack of uncovered chairs, a massive table covered in a canvass-like material, and three candle operas atop the covered table, the candles themselves melted down to the base of each holder. It didn’t…
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Paying Attention
“Squirrel!” Her shout took me aback for a split second because, like most of the things she does, this was uncharacteristically within her character. Her glasses teetered on the edge of her nose, face reddened from the abrupt scream. She followed up her exclamation with a few puppy-like barks. “Holy crab apples, Jules!” I screamed.…
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Mastering Storytelling
Like it or not, people born on this planet have a narrative. Everyone wants to talk. Some about an event. For others, it’s a task they finished or a budding relationship. Or maybe they just ended their marriage. Whatever it is, you will find someone ready to tell you all about it! And what is…
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What Happened? Sleepwalking. Again.
I blinked a few times and rubbed my eyes. Yes. You are at home. You are in your bed. Cauble is purring, rubbing her face in mine. Guess she’s hungry. Blinking a few more times before stretching, I felt stiff. Every muscle hurt, like I finished a high-impact aerobic workout. I rubbed my eyes again,…
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The Day Before Cookie Gets Fired
Kathy hated the day-to-day business side of the diner. She looked into hiring a full-time bookkeeper and business manager on more than one occasion. But after looking at the books recognized that wasn’t an expense Janice’s Diner could afford. There were more important things she needed to worry about. The least of which was the…
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Kathy Tells It All: Part II
Filling up his coffee cup, she set the full carafe on the table between them, next to the ashtray with five butts from Kathy’s smokes. “Thank you,” Floyd said. Holding the mug to his lips, he blew just enough to cool down to the top of his coffee. Kathy slid back into the booth, flipping…