The Invitation
Maybe I’ll make pasta. Add chilies to it. Mary was alone again on a Saturday. Her father, Harold was on another business trip to Mississippi,…
Short Story Samples
Writing a short story is like an encapsulated novel focused on one main character. It is an artform on its own, and one needs to practice writing many of them to get a handle on the form. Reading our samples of short stories will also help you a great deal.
The Yellow Dress
It was another early sunset on a rainy day in Seattle. Andrew was walking with a paper bag of groceries back to his downtown studio…
The Traveler’s Story of a Terribly Strange Bed (excerpt)
Shortly after my education at college was finished, I happened to be staying at Paris with an English friend. We were both young men then,…
The Drip
Marty was curled up on the family recliner, staring at the ceiling with his mouth wide open. He had been hearing a dripping noise while…
Real Meditation
Setting my old laptop on a makeshift table made of leftover wood and cardboard, I sat in the cold garage of my shared living house.…
Through Holes (Part 3)
I dashed forward with a half bemused, half disgruntled face, and picked up Emily to put her in my room for a while. As I…
Through Holes (Part 2)
Anyways, near the doorstep of the office I work at, there is a homeless lady—well seemingly homeless. She prays, interposing her divine salutations with begging…
Through Holes ( Part 1)
I like to look through holes. The gaps in a steel mesh above the conductor’s door on a tram. The space between escalator stairs as…
Fathers and Sons
The other day, I was sitting on a veranda and wrote some text for a website. A big mug of green tea stood on a…
A Blind Date
Jason glanced at his watch and his heart started to beat twice as fast—he was late. He accelerated his pace, but there still were two…
Unexpected Answer
It was late at night when I dropped in at a local 24/7 grocery store and bought myself a couple of bottles of cheap beer.…
Breakthrough
When I returned home, it was already getting dark. I closed the front door, leaned against it with my back, and stood like that for…
Sweeping the Zen Courtyard
Every other Saturday, Master Rick of the Seattle Zen Monastery asked me to sweep the courtyard with a brittle straw broom. This week was more…
The Doppelganger
September in Chicago, 1972. I was sitting alone in a stuffy train compartment and peering out of the window. The evening landscape outside was monotonous:…
The Unwritten Score
His nose could have been mistaken for a carrot. Not one of those dirt-rich oblong carrots, but a baby-sized carrot packed in those free-moving, punctured…