My next post was going to be a collection of sexy, vaguely homo-erotic (ok sometimes just flat out homoerotic) pictures of 19th century men that I’ve collected while finding images for my book. But hell, it’s the end of 2015. Maybe the best year of my life so far. I guess I should honor…
Every other writer I know works a hell of a lot harder than my lazy ass and if you judge by effort, I do not deserve what I’ve garnered in my 2 and a half year career. The other night I got to talk on late night radio about a little listicle…
I don’t even know what you’d call it. I called myself a “humorist” in the program but that was because my vocabulary is lacking. In a talent show, where does, “Making witty observations while wildly gesticulating in front of a slide show of 19th century underwear” fall? My friend Sonja, who is…
I have commissioned an 8×12 life boat. It will sit in my back yard, in that spot that used to be a culvert to it slopes real bad and the dogs poop there. It has a green roof that for some reason is made of bullet proof plastic, a little loft big enough for a…
Flight. Feel danger or pain approaching and retreat. Unless you’re evolutionary defective. Then you just lean right on into that pain. It’s a compulsion. Nearly out of my control. I feel it in my gut, a force tugging me from my center, off my feet and into the sharp end of whatever bad situation points at me. Especially…
Older ladies, who still color and set their hair and know how to email, sure they’re fine. Whatever. But the Bills of the world, they do something to me. Cowboy shirt, faded, not worn ironically. Khaki shorts showing the white scars of his knee surgeries, and clean white socks pulled up the calf. Straw…
Every summer I sit in the damp heat of the glassed in “Parent Aquarium” at the University’s pool and watch my daughter learn to swim. This year, as I was signing her up at the Fitness Center, I couldn’t stop looking at their rock wall. Brand new, forty feet high, weird little pockets and pinches…
I live in a town called Independence. Actually I live in the town next to it…but you know how old small towns bleed together over the century, connected by spattered little strip malls and one-story office buildings? We’ve got that going on. If my name were “Christmas Oneill,” I wouldn’t make a big deal…
I used to joke with my husband that when I reached a certain level of success in my writing, I wanted help with the housecleaning. Because I have tried for 15 years now, to keep a house. To keep the dirty dishes pile low enough in the sink to allow access to the water…
I remember looking at the clock on the dashboard, and seeing that it was exactly 9:38 in the morning. And I was proud. I’d made it 33 minutes into the trip without wanting to pill-up. My two best friends here in town have my daughter over for sleepovers and play dates often. I seldom reciprocate, because…
