poetry, writer, writing

Snow in April

Sometimes we get snow in April.

It’s inevitable like skin burnt by sunshine,

broken hearts, and failed exams.

The day still carries the blooms of spring

And the hope of new growth after the

winter of our soul.

The frigid pane of a window gives it away.

Our winter has yet to end.

Sometimes we get snow in April.

It’s inevitable like blisters from shoes,

uncomfortable silences, and paths not taken.

The air still carries the pollen

And the flowers and joy to come after

the last stand of frost.

The emerged animals scurry in confusion.

Our spring has yet to begin.

Sometimes we get snow in April.

It’s inevitable, and then we move on.

fiction, story, writer, writing

Pitches Be Crazy

I’m doing a thing tomorrow. I’m pitching one of the novels I wrote to agents. I write because I love writing. I don’t write to get published. I do want to share this story and its crazy cast of characters with the world though. Taking years of work and boiling it down to one sentence is painfully beautiful. It reminds me of the sheer joy of creation. Pitches be crazy.

Draft 5,003:

Houseboat

Blaire Alice must save her fractured family from Canadian pirates and lovesick bears after her unhinged astronomer husband trades their comfortable life for a houseboat on the wilds of Lake Superior to escape an alleged, world-ending solar storm.