Category Archives: Creative Writing

Boomer and Tumbles

“Wake up, Tumbles!” Mom called, gently nudging my shoulder with her broad, soft foot pad. “It’s time to get up. Have you forgotten that we’re going fishing today? Boomer has been up since dawn and is eager to go.” “Fishing!” … Continue reading

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The Agony and the Ecstasy

A wanderlust bug crawled out from the pages of my seventh grade social studies textbook and bit me. It happened at the beginning of the school year when my class was learning the history of Ancient Greece. A picture of … Continue reading

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Picnics

“Get me out of here!” I screamed. My cries were futile. I had been crammed into a dark, stuffy backpack for days, sometimes with lumpy shoes pressing painfully against me. How I longed for the comfort of the store where … Continue reading

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Office Space for Rent

Fact: “Violent Earthquake Strikes Northern California… Even Bigger Quake Predicted Along San Andreas Fault.” That was a newspaper headline following the Loma Prieta earthquake on October 18, 1989. It was a day like any other in Northern California until 5:04 … Continue reading

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A Watched Pot Never Boils

It sometimes seems to take an eternity for things to happen, especially when we are waiting on tenterhooks. “A watched pot never boils,” they say. I thought about that proverb and its meaning after our creative writing class last Monday. … Continue reading

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One Morning In Mexico

For two glorious weeks, no buzzing alarm clock would jolt me awake. My wrist watch was tucked deep in a drawer, since I wanted no reminders that it was time to do this or that. Instead, I would eat when … Continue reading

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The Broken Group of Islands: Keeping Up the Cadence

I snuggled deeper into the warmth of my sleeping bag and listened to the waves slapping on the sandy shore and the squeals of distant gulls. A new day was dawning and soon I would have to struggle within the … Continue reading

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A Childhood Story

Christmas tree lights, diffused with angel hair and backed with silver reflectors, cast a rosy glow over our little living room. The curtains remain open and a yellow street light shines in from Dunbar Street. The smell of wood smoke … Continue reading

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My First Day in Venice

It was past midnight and no one was in sight. An unseen walker’s footsteps echoed off stone buildings. A burst of students’ voices, laughing and singing, faded away. Then, except for water gently slapping against wooden pilings, all was silent. … Continue reading

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Silence

“If you are quiet, you might hear something,” I reminded myself as I tried to avoid stepping on the crisp, curled leaves littering the trail. During Costa Rica’s dry season from December to April, deciduous trees lose their leaves in … Continue reading

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