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On Folding and Magic

The first time I visited Robby’s dorm room in college, my jaw dropped. The place smelled like detergent and featured a crisply made bed. His desk held two large, shiny computer screens and his wardrobe was tightly closed. Even the rug was spotless. I plopped on his bed and asked him what color his day was. As we talked, he plucked a pair of khakis from his laundry hamper and unfurled them loudly to banish the wrinkles. Then, he folded them lengthwise, pulled the legs taut, and straightened the inseam. Continue reading

The Beautiful Truth

A month ago, one of my adorably few friends in Atlanta invited me to her friend’s apartment. The studio layout was complete with high ceilings, exposed beams, salvaged artsy furniture, and an abundance of dead flowers and smoking devices. I stood among four women, passing a bottle of Evan Williams around a high table and talking about love. The dull wood displayed a collection of candles melting into one another like an oozing heart. Continue reading

Beach Snow

Snow on the beach creates a layer of silk. It’s not the pockmarked skin that rain brings, but an impossibly thin sheet draped over the face of the shore. One barely-touch from your big toe summons the fleshy white sand underneath. I never conceptualized a snowy beach; the words don’t even blend. Continue reading

Epiphany Exercise: Historical Omniscience

 

 

I recently purchased a book called The 3 A.M. Epiphany: Uncommon Writing Exercises That Transform Your Fiction by Brian Kiteley.  Today, I completed Exercise #9, “Historical Omniscience.” Here’s the core of the prompt:

 

“Write about an event set well in the past, twenty or one hundred years ago. Write from above, as if by means of researched opinion (but I suggest you do little actual research). By this I mean write about several historical characters or an interesting event, imagining any POV you want.”

700 words

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Orion

“If this fucking dog dies,” I thought to myself,  “Robby may never speak again.” It was dramatic, of course, but held a sort of truth when I looked at the large, pink storage bin in my lap. A scruffy black head the size of my fist swiveled calmly, peering into the quietude that 4 AM brings. Continue reading

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