My Cardboard Balcony

My handful of readers, I am happy to announce that, on this welcome rainy night, I am taking on a special project with my girlfriend and my sister. No, it is not like any writing project I have taken on. It is not a film, or a novel, or a wild collection of poems. And while my girlfriend has requested that I keep this all on the DL until things are started and finalized, I can safely say that I am very, very excited about it. Considering my low number of hours at the bookstore, my struggle with teaching credential programs, and other attempts at finding things to do or work on, I'm glad that something, with a little inspiration from a college acquaintance, has sprung up to build my creativity and enthusiasm. And I sincerely hope that when we roll this baby out it will be well-received and garner interest in more than just one community. And that's all I'm going to say about it. No spoilers. Shhhh. Writer's Quotation of the Night: Any writer worth his salt writ

"Caramel Kisses" is an unfinished novel I began to write back in 2009 and stopped working on in 2010. The two main characters - Adriana Maguire Reynard and Emma Burking - would ultimately be revised for my later completed novella, "The Liffey Is Half-Asleep," in 2011. Several elements of "Liffey" can be found in their original forms in "Caramel Kisses," such as the characters' names, the haiku scene, and Adriana's penchant for writing. Because of its influence on my later writing, I figured that this story, though incomplete, was worth sharing. Caramel Kisses: Chapter Twelve by Belinda Roddie I went to church this morning, while Emma was still asleep. The first time in five years. I had gone to a Wednesday mass on campus when I was still a student, but I didn’t think those really counted toward the main tally God supposedly kept for all of His alleged followers. But staying up through a Saturday night had gotten to my religious side,

One third of the pie was gone by the time the party was over, so I wrapped up the rest of it and drove to the hospital, where I tried very hard not to be distracted by the spider web of tubes spiraling toward my sister's body and face. My mother was already sitting with her, hand clasped over cold knuckles, and looked up with a small smile as I delivered the dessert. "Chelsea's favorite," I explained. "Her friends say Happy Birthday."