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Showing posts from January, 2012

Words Move Me: The Truth Behind My Move to Baltimore

Almost twenty years ago I moved to Baltimore because every book I read promised adventure, love, discovery—here.
It goes without saying that these stories that guided my path, answered my questions and asked them of me were fiction.
These words guided and propelled, led me home.
Twenty years later, words move me.
The stories I write promise adventure, love, discovery, somewhere—else.
These stories that guide my path, answer my questions, and ask them of me are fiction.
These words that guide and propel, lead me home.

Death Sells: Nemesis-Ink: Pre Issue I (Fiction)

Dear Editor:


As the editor-in-chief of Nemesis, the leading source of obituaries in the Washington/Baltimore area, I would like to share one of the secrets of my success: death sells.Almost every day death is reported in newspapers worldwide in one form or another.While most expected in the obituary section, it can be reported in the crime, local, entertainment or in almost any section from the front page to the last.The media coverage a death receives and the placement of the notice depend on the way a person lives or dies.Your actions in life literally affect your place in history.In your newspaper, those whose lives or deaths touch the most people appear to get the largest coverage, while others receive minimal space in which their lives are condensed.
On February 4th, 2005 the online version of the Baltimore Sun announced the death of activist, actor Ossie Davis in an article published by Associated Press writer Hillel Italie. On that day they also announced the death of Elizabeth…

Dating Advice You Didn't Ask For: Catch of the Day

“I cook, I clean, I take care of her kids. What other man would do all that for her?” He asked, “None, I tell you that.” He answered.
For the past few years the young man in front of me had been ineffectively flirting with me while I washed clothes in a local Laundromat.He seemed like a nice enough guy.I don’t date guys based on how nice they seem.
And so, for many reasons I had been avoiding him—quite successfully. I try to avoid awkward conversations like: Why don’t you find me attractive? What don’t like you like about me? What about tonight, are you free tonight?
Something about him gave me the impression of a guy who though accustomed to no’s, will try to negotiate his way to a yes.
I avoided the early morning conversations by doing my laundry in the evening or elsewhere, so I was surprised to run in to him mid-morning last week.
“How was your Christmas,” it began.
“Good, how was yours?”
“Awful, my girlfriend and I are breaking up—after five years and…”
Funny how he had never mention…

Saving Christmas or Why I don't Scrapbook

Each year Christmas comes and goes and with it the resolution to mail out Christmas cards. I imagine them—glossy pictures of my children in matching holiday garb. Or, my children and I captured in various stages of semi-natural elation: candid smiles, scrubbed faces, coifed hair snapped mid-life.
I picture these snippets of life and once again living these moments becomes more important than capturing them. I know when my children no longer resemble their present selves, I will miss them.Perhaps not being able to compare them with flimsy snapshots of their former selves will help me accept them for who they grow to be.Whatever the future holds I am living today so I don’t need to take pictures of it tomorrow.