Writing Fiction

To the “Paul” in all of us The purpose of life is to be happy. The purpose of life is to matter, to be productive; to have it make some difference that you lived at all. –Arthur H. Prince Maybe I’m the Rush Limbaugh version of myself today, blogging. Maybe it’s the 2 hours of sleep I got last night. The voices, the schizophrenia I’ve got, or that my heart has actually been touched, way deep. Maybe that’s why I’m even on this computer right now at all. I’m human—Angel. Demon. Human. I live...Read Full Story

Writing Therapy: Georgie’s Big Break “Mr. Gust?” The secretary is standing over him. She waves her pencil in his face. “Mr. Gust?” Georgie looks up. He smiles at her. That’s what people do, right? They smile…? She jerks the pencil toward the heavy wood door. “The doctor’s ready for you now,” she says. She walks back to her desk, her tight little ass traveling smoothly in a clinging grey skirt. She props her yellow pumps up on the desk as she watches him. She grimaces and pulls out a nail file...Read Full Story

Writing Therapy: Dinner with the Gusts “Geow-gie!” Mrs. Gust screeches when she opens the door to her son. “Geow-gie, you haven’t been over in ages!” Mama Gust is a huge woman dressed completely in purple spandex. Her hair poofs around her thick jowls like a ball of cotton. One forgotten curler hangs from a lock behind her ear like jewelry. When she wraps Georgie in a hug, her body engulfs him, sucking him into the fat rolls of her enormous belly. For a moment, he cannot breathe. “And Claw...Read Full Story

Writing Therapy: Proof You Can Go Home Again The black sedan pulls up to the curb outside of Georgie Gust’s old-style country home. The driver, Ben (Ben?) jumps out and runs to open the back door. Georgie pulls himself up out of the back seat. (I thought Georgie was dead, Ben. Well he is and he’s not, Dr. C. You know those creepy-crawly walking corpses—those dead but not-quite-dead people? Like zombies, Ben? Sure, sure. Like zombies, Dr. C. If that’s what helps you sleep at night. Whatever...Read Full Story

Writing Therapy: It’s All in a Day’s Work Claudia dreams that she is having dinner with the Gusts. Except that instead of a ham, there is an entire roasted pig on the table, an apple shoved in its snout. And there are tall, slim candles lighting the dark wood table, dripping rivulets of wax. Wasted wax, Claudia thinks in the dream. Georgie’s mother comes to the table with a pair of thick, round goggles over her eyes and a leather helmet on her head. She sits. “Geow-gie always wanted to be a...Read Full Story