Because all the #MeToo’s has me wanting to remind women, you can tell your story and it can be healing. There was a day A day she began To crave the destruction Of hands raised in fury Of jagged edged words Of nostrils flaring over thin lips There was a day A day she decided To… Continue reading There Was a Day
By eight years old, I was already skilled in the art of fetching my stepfather a drink. Not yet tall enough to reach the large glasses on the top shelf, or the liquor cabinet above the stove, I’d hoist myself onto the counter. Next I’d grab a plastic tumbler from the first cupboard, one of those ringed by four smart rows of penguins marching neatly round. A few steps of my bare feet across counter-top brought me to the highest cabinet where a bottle of Seagram’s 7 always fronted a handful of options.
Since childhood I had held my personal night at bay with artificial light of my own design: third helpings of pizza and forgetting myself in five books a day, outrageous lies and sexual exploits, hash laced joints and lines of meth, camel menthols and twelve hour workdays. I had always lost myself in a hundred things so that I never had to face the night inside.
In creative writing class Professor Herring stressed villains must be nuanced if they are to be accepted believed embraced by the discerning reader No one is pure evil even Hitler loved a kitten once And I thought of my villains David- Clubber of baby seals and other fat things. Mike- Whiskey fueled cruelty… Continue reading Villains
When I was a kid, my stepdad used to play this game with us. He called it “The Quiet Game”. Mostly, I’m sure, because “The Get These Kids to Finally Shut the Heck Up Game” takes too long to say. The game went like this. We’d be driving somewhere; he at the helm, my mom… Continue reading The Quiet Game
Originally posted on Heather Bock:
A month and a half ago, I attended an amazing conference put on by Living Proof Ministries called LIT, for women in their 20s and 30s with a passion to be Christian communicators. A month before the conference, thinking about how fast the tickets sold out in the first ten…
At 18, living alone in a new city, there was a day I decided to wear only red. The color would be my brand, my hallmark, my calling card. In a strange new place, where I was as of yet anonymous, I could choose to become anyone, anything. I chose red. I visited dozens of… Continue reading A Softer Shade of Red