Writing in verse disguised my ineptitude.

Inspiration came after I'd given up.

Ink flows freely from open eyes.

Every good writer begins with a catchy introductory sentence. The best ones make some sort of general claim and proceed to back it up with statements that loosely connect it to the actual topic on which they intend to write, thus covering up the overused device that pervades modern writing. By the time a reader becomes aware of the devices, it’s too late; the device has already worked, and the reader is well into the first paragraph. A long, drawn out metaphor or simile often serves to furthe...

Brothers – that’s the theme Scott Redding finally decided upon for the yearbook. He felt that it adequately described the relationships forged over the last twelve years between the eighty-five young men who comprised his senior class. Over those twelve years, some came, and some went, but there was always a sense of family, of closeness that brought the class of 2003 together. Scott knew that his yearbook staff would approve the theme; they were his closest friends, and in a sense, his own b...

Immortal stains of sacrificial red Pollute the land that once was filled with dreams – By brothers' hands my people's blood was shed. In years, these people never will forget, And many monsoon rains can never clean Immortal stains of sacrificial red. The stones cried out with horror and with dread As witnesses to crimes they'd never seen By sisters' hands my people's blood was shed. The hearts and minds of guiltless children bled Upon the ground at ruthless killers' feet: Immortal stains of s...

When I tell people that my undergraduate major was psychology, they often ask “So can you read my mind? What am I thinking right now?” or “I hope you’re not assessing me. How crazy am I really?” If only they knew. That’s what I do – I read people’s minds. I’m not telepathic or psychic or anything, but I do pay attention to their facial expressions, hand movements, voice inflections, eye contact – it can all tell you a lot about a person, even if you’re not actually reading his mind. I’m alway...

We like our meat well-processed. Chicken nuggets, ground beef, strips of bacon. If we can recognize it, it’s not worth eating. Perhaps it’s a way of escaping guilt; that’s what the vegetarians say. “Is it just me or did your steak just say ‘moo?’” It’s just you; if it’s bleeding, it’s not talking. Besides, cows need a mouth to talk, and I don’t see a mouth on my steak. I missed the point. “Imagine those big soft eyes that cows have. That’s what you’re eating.” No, I’m eating part of that broa...

As he stepped out of the subway station into a briskly moving stream of people, Peter glanced around. Two Mexican women each pushed a stroller along the sidewalk, and newspapers blew about them in a swirling vortex of warm air. A small grocery store bustled with the activity typical of a Saturday afternoon. Three men sat outside a clothing store, noting "las mamacitas que pasan por aquí." Cars whizzed by, clouds floated about, the scent of tamales entangled itself with the pungent odor of ga...

Melissa doesn’t like to keep secrets, so when she had a brief affair with Roger, she felt obliged to tell her husband. It wasn’t because Andrew was a bad husband or that he neglected her in any way. He worked a modest job and was always on time for dinner. They went to the movies on Friday evenings and spent Sunday afternoons reading at the park, if the weather was nice. Andrew occasionally brought home flowers for no apparent reason and seldom raised his voice, even after a difficult day at ...