ALL THE SPACES IN BETWEEN
A Novel
As a boy, Frank Christie found a space to hide from his mother’s illness in the epic tales of Greek mythology. But Frank’s gods and monsters don’t mean much to his thirteen year-old daughter Twig. What good are Minotaurs and Argonauts when you’re a stick-skinny 13 year-old girl? While Twig struggles to take the final step which will propel her from the magic world of childhood into a teenage landscape of boys and candy-coated lip-gloss, Frank is taking the final step into a labyrinth of his own, sucked into the same black hole of depression and anxiety which devoured his mother. Frank thought he could outrun his destiny, but his gods had other plans.
DAUGHTERS OF PAX
A Novel
Four generations ago The Uprising put an end to The Wars and in their wake The Mothers left behind a new order of unprecedented peace.
For fifteen year-old Saga, this world where girls and women are free and unhindered is the only one she has ever known. But with that freedom also comes great responsibility. Soon enough Saga will take her place in the elite Daughters of Pax, formally swearing to protect the inheritance of The Mothers at any cost.
But for now, her role as sister, protecting her twelve year-old brother, Joss, is hard enough. As Joss begins to chafe at the restraints their world places on him, Saga is forced to question how much is too much, even in the name of the greater good. How far will she go to protect Joss from harm, even if protecting him means risking the first step on the long, slow march to war?
Even in a world of peace, where do you draw the line?
The Space Between Our Names
Short Fiction
Together, Laura and I stepped through the looking glass of childhood straight into the rabbit hole of adolescence. We were more than simply best friends. We were Siamese spirits, conjoined souls, sharing our hopes and fears and birthday candle wishes, finishing each other’s sentences, chasing our dreams like fireflies around the banks and bends of our small, river town. Even our names were linked. When people spoke of us, when they spoke to us, one name followed the other without pause or breath in between. KimandLaura, LauraandKim.
When I reach back and search those long ago memories, the ones buried deep below first crushes and first kisses, beneath other highlights and lowlights of growing up, I can’t remember Laura before the moment I met her. In my memory it’s as if she simply appears at my side, an extension of myself; a best friend sprung fully formed from the surf. Venus rising from the school yard asphalt.
The Alchemy of Construction
Flash Fiction
It takes me moment now to adjust to the sight of him, to the presence of flesh and bone. I am more accustomed to his voice, that honey syrup drip that slides into my eardrums over long-distance wires. Having him here, in my home, in front of me, is jolting. It has been too long since I have seen him sitting across my table or sprawled upon my sofa. I resist the urge for physical confirmation, though my hands ache toward the damp, baby curls along his nape. My fingertips itch to trace the outline of his spine pressing through his tee-shirt. I long for the contact of bone so that I can remember something solid the next time he leaves.