-
Written by guest author Jolene Rice This story is part of the project A Writer’s Shindig. Jolene Rice’s story is the second of 6 short stories written for the project. You can read more about our collaboration and read all the stories posted thus far at A Writer’s Shindig. Skin Care Cassandra spent every Sunday…
-
Written by guest author Jolene Rice This story is part of the project A Writer’s Shindig. Jolene Rice’s story is the second of 6 short stories written for the project. You can read more about our collaboration and read all the stories posted thus far at A Writer’s Shindig. Doing a good job Cassandra had…
-
Written by guest author Jolene Rice This story is part of the project A Writer’s Shindig. Jolene Rice’s story is the second of 6 short stories written for the project. You can read more about our collaboration and read all the stories posted thus far at A Writer’s Shindig. A job Cassandra stopped. Rain was…
-
There’s poison in the well Put there by a trusted friend One I’ll never trust again Who proclaimed to love me, yet Roped in those around us To belittle and betray, Convinced to participate in the fantasy That anger and confusion Collude to entangle The otherwise level-headed. And now there’s poison in the well A…
-
I previously posted a version of this story that was not complete. One of my fellow writers and blog readers invited me to a “woodshedding” writer’s group at the end of 2025, where I worked with other writers to improve and complete the story. It was a fun exercise in collaboration. All the stories from…
-
I previously posted a version of this story that was not complete. One of my fellow writers and blog readers invited me to a “woodshedding” writer’s group at the end of 2025, where I worked with other writers to improve and complete the story. It was a fun exercise in collaboration. All the stories from…
-
It is not lost on me That I was sent away during holy times First, when we anticipated hope and light Born into the darkness Cast out among celebrations Of joy and peace and love. Is it not lost on me That I returned to find nothing but callousness A strangeness in the air that…
-
When the shepherd is a wolf The sheep will never be at ease. It won’t matter how he tries to hide To comfort, to appease. The sheep might stop their stamping Cease their fretting and their cries They might become accustomed To his teeth and yellow eyes But the sheep will never trust him Never…
