flashes of light dance in some bunched cellophane on the floor. its glassy splendor seems almost like ice, tricking his eyes as he tries to write. he can't think of anything. "it's time to go," she says from behind him, her voice so small it was far away. without looking at her, he knows there's … Continue reading cellophane
Creative Writing
standing at the edge of my father's bed, i remembered what i wanted to say... and wept.
in the field where the wildflowers grow, a raindrop kissed my face. a breeze took my hand and danced me -- bent my stalk and swayed my stems -- to the promise of another splendid summer. "spring is here," it whispered. and is it beautiful.
as a young writer, i used to think that i was above revisions. after 30+ years of making mistakes, i now long for them.
i still look at your old house on ogden when i pass in hopes that i may see myself outside your door. i wasn’t so much a young man then, but younger still than today and full of the hope i promised you at 3 a.m. on the cool pavement of your porch, or barefooted … Continue reading emma’s house revisited
the little house on ridgewood was old and oddly laid out. probably because someone converted it to a duplex at one point and then back to a single-family home. it had two front entrances and one of the “bedrooms” was clearly a second living area. but the oddest thing was the drop ceiling in the … Continue reading the cigarette purse
she became so overwhelmed with emotion that her heart felt as if it would swell up like a balloon, rise up out of her throat, and escape through her mouth.
Nicolas Gonzales 