1Where do you start? In the hollow of a shoulder blade? Or the nape of the neck where fine hairs trace a pattern? His tongue licking, tasting the salt of her skin, delicate and light so it tickles and she…to read more click here.
Sackcloth and ashes
2Pulling the brush through her curls, trying to untangle them, she stopped, drew her hair back sharply from her face, and stared at the black smudges beneath her eyes, the hollows in her cheeks, her pale… to read more click here.
South – a script
3Open on a MODEL BOAT which widens to show a yard sale in progress in front of a white clapboard house. There is a CAMPER VAN and a thirty foot CABIN CRUISER in the drive.. to read more click here.
Tales From a Campsite
4There were so many cloudless days they ran into each other like a stream of blue handkerchiefs knotted by the night. Rose would wake to the heat of the sun as it filtered through the canvas… to read more click here.
She had this house she went back to at the end of the day. She was trying to define the concept of home. What was that elusive thing that she thought she wanted? Bulbs growing in pots, a vegetable garden, a fire and a comfy chair. A desk. A bedroom with white walls, a patchwork quilt, and a bed made …
That summer Daisy had to stay in the city even though it was hot and sweaty. Of course she’d rather be by the sea or up in the hills by a river or lake. Anywhere but walking the streets lined with shops still advertising summer sales with amazing bargains and prices slashed. The irony was her city-the place where she …
The Bench (love untold) They look at him without committing ‘Is he one of the them,’ they wonder, ‘or just one of ‘them’?’ Their dogs lie quietly, in the absence of malice He, with his book, sits at one end of the bench chewing on the world, as much on its discrepancies as its gods of …