writing

  • Macallan-age 25

    Macallan-age 25

    A brunette perches at the bar, her eyes catching the glint of amber in the bottle—Macallan 25, dark and enigmatic, a suitor in a glass. He’s handsome by every measure, aged to a quiet swagger, promising warmth and secrets. She orders him neat. No pretense, no dilution. The glass arrives, heavy with anticipation, and she…

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  • “Not Yet”

    “Not Yet”

    “Some doors don’t open with force. They wait for the right hands, at the right time.” bb grey Yard sales weren’t Robert’s thing. Not even close. But Beth—Beth thrived on them.“Look at this! A whole world of treasures just waiting to be rescued!” she’d say, grinning like she’d found buried gold in a box marked…

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  • “Chasing Jeet’s Rope: A Dive into the Abyss”

    Fiji, 1980s. The sun’s a smug bastard, grinning down, reminding me it’s summer here while Los Angeles shivers. Waves lap at the shore, warm as a lover’s whisper, every thirty seconds or so. I’m eighteen, cocky, standing in nemo-print trunks—pre-movie, mind you, maybe I inspired Pixar. Signed up for this swim-snorkel-underwater-cave deal. Sounded like a…

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  • The Bird in My Hand

    The Bird in My Hand

    Prompt: Write about a time when you didn’t take action but wish you had. What would you do differently? Financial decisions come to mind. A relationship I held onto longer than I should have. Another I didn’t jump into when the moment opened. Business opportunities I let pass. All of it. Each choice—or lack of…

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  • Stillness in the Driveway

    How do I unwind after a demanding day? I sit.I breathe.And sometimes—I remember. Back in 2008, when the Great Recession was battering my business and life felt like it was unraveling one invoice at a time, I developed a small ritual. After a long day—clients yelling, banks circling, friends and subcontractors losing homes—I’d pull into…

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  • Scrolling Isn’t Breathing

    I use social media the way I use salt-just enough to taste, never enough to live on. bb grey It’s Easter Sunday. I was woken not by an alarm, but by a quartet of birds playing something between a minuet and a dream—somewhere between Debussy and the dripping hush of a new morning. It’s easy…

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  • Footnotes at 1:30 am

    Footnotes at 1:30 am

    Jot down the first thing that comes to your mind. At precisely 1:30 a.m., I made the kind of discovery no archaeologist dreams of: the third shard of glass embedded delicately into the bottom of my unsuspecting bare foot. I jumped back like a startled ballerina, teetering heroically on one leg as my hand, still…

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  • The Art of Quitting: Knowing When to Walk Away

    “Winners quit fast, quit often, and quit without guilt”― Seth Godin, The Dip Knowing when to quit. I’ll never forget stumbling across Seth Godin’s book, The Dip, and hitting a line that stopped me cold: “Some of the most successful people are the best quitters.” My brain did a double-take. Growing up with immigrant parents who…

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  • Fracture

    Fracture

    “We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.”— W. Somerset Maugham Your silence cuts like glass,a delayed reply, a shrug that stings.I wrote you truth, raw and jagged,to mend the cracks where our story…

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  • The Builder

    The Builder

    Billie Holiday cries softly, somewhere between here and the past—her melody warms the corners of the roomlike the heater humming in time with my breath.A cappuccino cozies the center of me,and I write—to life,to you,across this ethereal threadspun of digits and light. I weave thoughts and feelingslike a tapestry—yarns pulled from memory and moment:scratchy and…

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