Lawless Letters

A small face is pressed against the window, watching for the blue car that should have been home by now.

Wake up with a head full of busy-mom thoughts. Need to pay bills. Better get those leaves raked and bagged before it rains this afternoon. Got to do laundry and pack for our trip. The kids need baths. 7yo got up at 5 a.m.; she’s gonna be in a terrible mood. How am I going to keep them off their devices all day? Skip your usual head-clearing, treasured-time-to-yourself morning walk, because the kids are home on fall break and your husband left early for work. Log on to your work laptop. Answer emails, attend conference calls, fight fires, fix problems. Try to keep up with the deluge of instant messages from co-workers who are about to go away for Thanksgiving and want you to do just one thing for them first. Spend the morning juggling the kids’ needs and your employer’s needs. Do a mediocre job at both. Feel your sanity stretching thin. Feed your picky 7yo Campbell’s soup for lunch. Microwave leftovers and eat them at your desk. When your 10yo asks you to go outside with her and j...

The beguiling call came again. Lucky sniffed the air. He whined, pacing at the end of his tether. With a sudden surge of power, he sprang, and heard a loud crack. The broken collar tumbled to the dirt. Lucky bounded over the ridge to meet his lady. Writing Prompt: Create a 47-word micro story that contains an object the main character is happier without.

Dr. Ronda Karion sat behind the wheel of her silver Lexus, parked on the fourth floor of the University’s garage. She eyed the rear-view mirror. Marc, reflected, lurked in the shadows behind a column. This role of getaway car driver was new for Ronda. Typically she’d be doing the breaking and entering, with Marc as lookout. But he’d been keen to switch roles for this particular mission, which suited her fine. She smiled wryly. The past year sure had produced some unexpected twists. It all began that fateful Sunday, when Dr. Marc Rook had cornered her in her office. He had discovered her little habit, lifting attractive objects that weren’t hers. She was busted. It was a wake-up call, a signal that she would need to be more careful, starting that very minute. Marc wasn’t her type. But it was kind of sexy, the way he’d gotten right down to business. “Dr. Karion—” “Ronda. Please.” She had looked him directly in the eyes and smiled. She felt her adrenaline receding, regrouping, r...

CW: gun violence Forty-nine souls slaughtered while dancing. Fifty-eight music fans murdered from a hotel window. Twenty-two shot while shopping. Nine killed at church. Twenty children gunned down in a classroom. Which church? Which children? Too many too remember, too many to count, too many for your mortal mind to believe. You don’t let yourself cry because your tears might flow, unstoppable, like their blood. You might sigh, or swear, or shake your head. But soon you stop, and drive to work, and wash the dishes, and play games. You forget their names because to carry on living you must pretend this is not really happening. You bet your life it is. Senator Sandra read the news. She did not ban assault rifles, nor demand background checks. She did not call for registration or licensing. She typed 140 characters about prayers. Thought that was a good solution. They must’ve paid her a nice price to plug her ears against the screams of the parents, sister...

In a 2016 interview , author Toni Morrison was asked what advice she would give to young writers. She said, “Start at 40.” She had always been a big reader, she said, but she never thought about writing until she was 39. I started this writing website just before my 42nd birthday a year ago. I love to write, but I hadn’t done much writing in my adult life. I was too busy living, working, studying, traveling, falling in love, having kids, and finding excuses. I needed something to spur my ass into a gallop. For me, that something was the number 42. Bear with me while I explain. The number 42 is legendary among sci-fi nerds like myself, because of Douglas Adams’ book The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (it’s hilarious; check it out). In the story, people ask supercomputer Deep Thought for the answer to “the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything!” After thinking about it for several million years, Deep Thought comes up with the answer: 42. This in turn sends ev...

Garlands of lacy paper in rainbow colors hung from the ceiling of El Pueblo restaurant. Kate sat beneath them, chin in hand, oblivious to her friends’ chatter. Sipping her Coke, she idly watched her twin brother, Kevin, across the room at the contestants’ table, devouring an extra-large burrito. “And we have three winners today! Congratulations, gentlemen,” said the sombrero-clad manager, handing gift certificates to Kevin and two of his business school classmates. The boys whooped, high-fived, and stood with difficulty, hoisting their full stomachs as they made their way over to the corner table. “Katie, text Mom and tell her I ate a burrito BIGGER THAN MY HEAD!” roared Kevin, ruffling Kate’s hair. “She’ll be so proud.” Kate rolled her eyes as the boys began a fresh round of hooting and back-slapping. The victors celebrated by ordering more food. Kate grimaced and turned her head as they tucked into their chips and guacamole. “They’re destined for beer guts if they keep th...