I have given myself the task of writing a “Collection” of short stories while I am home recovering from surgery. I don’t know how much writing I will get done because in general I am a horribly lazy person. Maybe I will write a story about a person who had surgery who is trying to write a collection of short stories. Write what you know, right?
The good news is that when I announced I was going to try to do this, I said that I would write crappy short stories, so everyone will have super low expectations. Those are always the best kind of expectations!
Here’s a sample for you.
All those novels she had read about the romance of the starving artist did not cover the very real possibility of dying from the world’s worst caffeine headache by the end of the week. Her tombstone would read “Here Lies Annie Hatfield, dead of a broken heart when her boyfriend, Morning Breakfast Blend, left her in her time of need.”
I downloaded a new app today called Hanx Writer. Oddly enough, the Hanx does refer to Tom Hanks, who worked to create an app that replicates his beloved typewriters.
Anyone who knows me at all knows there are three sounds in life that I adore beyond reason; tap dancing, crackling fires, and typewriters. The sound of typing literally lulls me to sleep, which is a dangerous thing when you work in a building surrounded by people typing all day.
But I digress. Go download this free app (Hanx in iTunes) and tell me it’s not fantastic. I actually paid for all three styles of typewriter AND the 99 cent add-on that will let me use these as my keyboard in any app.
Yes, I have a problem, but any time I can give myself a soul-soothing delight for less than $6, I’m all in.
The hardest part may be
Reclaiming the places and spaces once shared by two;
favorite haunts, now haunted.
You can ignore, retreat, recoil
Avoid the heartache
of a thousand happy memories
Or face them
Plant your flag in the soft sand
of towns with ocean views
Even as you wipe away tears
and try to smile
Tell the waitress you aren’t waiting for one more
even when your heart is
Because every special place you went
Is a place you went
You can own
those roads and restaurants,
the sun and the Saturdays
or continue giving them away
who doesn’t even
We saw this shoe, jammed under the stairs.
“How do you not notice that you’ve lost a shoe?” asked