Tag: Writing
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1,000
1,000 likes on Five Minute Observations. More than 700 stories about grief, grace, friendship, and paying attention to ordinary moments. Thank you for reading. New goal: 100 subscribers. Read something here that stuck with you? Send it to one person. Link in bio.
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A Secret I’m Bad At Keeping
Finally, it’s finished! My first thriller fiction novel. Restitution — it’s about a woman who uncovers something she was never supposed to find and must choose between exposing it or staying silent. I’ve spent the better part of the last three weeks getting it ready for the BookLife contest. Now I’m ready to talk about…
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Choose Words That Count
Two coffee shops. Two conversations. One word ended a friendship. Another changed someone’s whole day. Your words carry more weight than you think.
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Rose Festival 1990-Something
A bucket hat, a festival, and a version of himself he hasn’t thought about in years — here’s a memory that still fits.
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Fourth Move
A CFO sits down to dinner alone, weighs his options, and picks the one that lets him sleep. Chess with real stakes. Meet Roger, in Fourth Move.
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Name It
The average adult knows 20,000 words. But the one you learn today? What if that’s exactly the one someone in your life is waiting for?
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Showing Up
Writing is a lonely business. Alissa knows. That’s why she pulled me toward the table. Because she knows me.
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One Page Turned Into a Week of Saying ‘I Like You’
1980s. New kid. A girlfriend with a binder full of hearts, a Mormon friend, a Coke machine full of Pepsi, and one simple request: write me a real note. I should have known better than to start.
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Worth Reading. Worth Hearing.
The algorithm rewards volume. And packaging. But what does it do with the craft? Here’s what I didn’t say in the comment box.
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The Cheap Seats
Yesterday I wrote replies for strangers on LinkedIn. By the fifth one, I caught it. Same question, every time. I just didn’t know I was asking it.
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With Me When It’s Scariest
I was five the first time I dialed a phone. A yellow rotary on the wall. My grandmother’s number. My dad behind me on the barstool. I’ve been dialing scary numbers ever since.
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The Overqualification Olympics
Overqualified. Overeducated. Over fifty. Enthusiastic. Reasonably caffeinated. This is my situation, and I am choosing to find it funny. Mostly.
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Writing That Happened
I read a faith column in Sunday’s paper. Three numbered points. Charlie Brown opener. A tidy bow at the end. And nowhere did the writer tell me what he was afraid of. New post on Five Minute Observations. What does showing up actually look like? Link in bio.
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Told It Gently
A budget meeting goes sideways. Words land like scalding coffee. Ten years later, everyone still remembers the room. What’s in the cave your words come from?
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Key? What key?
Marcus woke up hungover, handcuffed to a steering wheel, and missing his Ray-Bans. The key belongs to Eric. Eric is somewhere over the Pacific. And Doug? Doug wants a breakfast burrito. Some mornings just go sideways from the first click.
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Three Feet
Fran drives to the far end of the Walmart parking lot every time. The walk tells her more than any interview. Thomas Sudameyer IV has a Patek Philippe on his wrist and a 2:30 he keeps mentioning. He’s about to find out that how you treat a cashier, a cart pusher, and a stranger in…
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Theology Or Horror. Who’s Driving?
Patrick Holloway walked into that book club with four good points and a disciplined spine. Candice Pruett walked in with rubber bands and color-coded tabs. One of them was more prepared than they knew. The best lessons don’t come from conferences. They come from rooms like this. Theology or Horror. Who’s Driving? New post. Five…
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The Word Got Very Tired
“I was this close.” Danny shows the gap between his thumb and forefinger. “I had it on me. I just. I couldn’t.” “None of us did.” Ray’s voice is flat. The woman at the counter picks up her phone. Nobody moves. They have ten minutes. Maybe less. And everything that comes after depends on what…
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A Brief Inconvenience
Is it worth it to show up? Misery loves company. We lied. We just didn’t want to be alone. Showing up depends on what you’re carrying.