Writing

Meet my friends Lucid & Lazy

Question – How does a screaming woman at an airport tie in with my visit to the Science Museum that inspired the story HAMARTIA? While in a meeting, I wrote the vivid airport scene that constantly ran in my head simply to make it stop. Period. I didn’t know what I would do with it if anything, but I freed it from my mind so I could get back to living my life. But then it happened again. Another scene manifested in my head. This time, the event that played on repeat was a funeral on a sunny day and […]

Writing

Lisa – the short story that ended (postponed) my writing life

LISA is the very last story I wrote and the only one I still have from my childhood. The day I decided to write Hamartia, I dug Lisa out from the depths of my closet to re-read it with adult eyes and finally understood why the teachers took action to ‘save me’. So I kinda sorta forgave those I loathed and blamed for making my life hell when I was twelve and decided to move on. To be honest, the story is not as vivid as I remember it; however, the topic would cause any responsible adult to react as […]

Writing

Where HAMARTIA began

Literally, the writing of HAMARTIA began on a notepad during a boring management meeting. But the idea of HAMARTIA began with a conversation in London England with my then 14-year-old son at the Science Museum. It was July 2012 and we were in London England celebrating Liam’s graduation from elementary school. Although I had positioned this trip as a celebration, it was actually my selfish way of spending time with my baby before he started high school in September and turned into an asshole. High school was when every kid started behaving like wild animals released from captivity, right? We […]

Writing

LISA, the dream killer

For as long as I can remember, I had always wanted to be a pilot and a writer. The dream of being a pilot ended the day I threw up on a flight to Brazil. The dream of being a writer almost died when Lisa, a fictional character in one of my stories, killed herself. It was seventh grade. I was twelve. I always wrote stories, all kinds of stories. But I was a horrible student (an underachieving, chronically late, and intentionally rude meanie-pants) who hated adults and authority. So when I handed in a story about a girl who […]