The Short Story

This website is a lazy summer afternoon lying under a tree. Thoughts wander, memory and dreams mixing, and for a flash you think you almost understand something—but it disappears. This writing is the moments after a thunderstorm when the dark clouds still hang on the horizon and the air is damp, where reflection might drift to gloom or joy. It is the middle of the night startled awake by nightmare or dream, the faint echo of sorrow or hope touching the heart, not quite remembered but driving off any return to sleep.

Here are my stories, real and imagined.

I have always told stories.

I was probably six when I told a story about a family of bunnies to my younger siblings. We were seated around the bedroom nightlight—which we were pretending was a campfire—when we were supposed to be sleeping. Around eight I was dictating a story to my Mom who—in her great generosity and patience—took time out of her full and busy life to write it down. My mom knew how to encourage me in my pursuits.

That was a long time ago. Sometimes it seems like not so long ago.

This website is like memories—the old and the new mix. Writing from today, and years ago both make their appearance, facts and also fiction interweaving across the pages. I try to make note of what is present and what is past, but an inattentive reader could be excused for occasionally losing track.

Welcome. If you become lost here, you might find something.

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