An Actual Conversation

N: "What do you eat for brunch besides Pop-Tarts?"

M: "Yeah, brunch is hard for me. I'm the Anti-Brunch. I like potato things, like hash browns, potatoes O'Brien . . ."

N: "I could make potato pancakes!"

M: "I don't like pancakes."

N: "It's not really a pancake, it's more like a giant hash brown."

M: "Like a latke? I don't like latkes."

N: "Um."

M: "And then people put apple sauce on them. Ew."

N: "I don't know how to make latkes. It really is like hashed browns. B likes to put eggs on top."

M: <silent egg hating moment>

N: "Not on yours though. I know you hate eggs. And we'll have fresh fruit smoothies. What kind of smoothies do you like?"

M: "I hate smoothies."

N: "Okay, what kind of milkshakes do you like?"

M: "Chocolate."

N: "Are you telling me that if someone offered you a raspberry milkshake right now, you would say, 'no'?"

M: "Yes."

N: "How about fresh berries?"

M: "Yes, I like fresh berries in their natural state."

Short Story: Distraction

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city. There were windows, visible to the lucky few cubes on the ends of the rows. Then there was Vera's cube, situated next to the row of manager's offices. Today she was lucky, someone had left their door open and precious slant of sunlight escaped, warming her back and washing out half of her computer screen. "I never realized your hair was red," Tracy dumped a large stack of paper on her desk, "The florescent lights make everything look so soupy." "What is that?" she pointed at the stack of paper. Tracy only offered compliments when he wanted a favor. "I need this entered," he smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. "You have a secretary," Vera waved a freckled hand to her left, "Ask him." "He's sick," Tracy gave her puppy-dog eyes, batting his long dark eyelashes. Vera sighed and fought back a smile. Tracy was such a s...

Poetry and Stuff

Grief:Peripheral The flicker of bluish light filters out what is missing; there is only one set of boots by the door, an apple sits on the counter uneaten, and even if you don’t make a sound, the notch in your heart is nothing personal. ____________________________ Yeah, I know I said no poetry, but I lied. From The Culling, because what girl doesn't dream of owning a library with a ladder? I just posted the last chapter of The Bond, which I'm not 100% satisfied with. It is the end of this novella, but the story continues in the next book of the series. One of my biggest problems is I don't have a title for the next novella. The working title was "The Break," which doesn't really work. If you have an idea or two, throw 'em in the comments.

Creative People and Pain

What's more, says Csikszentmihalyi, the openness and sensitivity of creative people can expose them to suffering and pain. As electrical engineer Jacob Rabinow told him, "Inventors have a low threshold of pain. Things bother them." And yet, few things in life bring more satisfaction and fulfillment than the process of creation. -From an article by Hara Estroff Marano

Refracted Neurons

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