bookmark_borderMorning Fog in the Soccer Field, 2022

The fog was cloud-thick as the man and his dog ventured out into oblivion. You couldn’t see the cars, but the hiss as they passed by found them in the field. Honking shadows glided down from the sky, their scattered calls organizing a shrouded gathering.

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bookmark_borderTwo Short Beginnings – Writing in New Brunswick with Images as Prompts

Yesterday I met up with a friend in New Brunswick (NJ). We were hoping to get a bit of writing done. I took a train North, while she took a train South, we met in the middle roughly equidistant from where we each live. Neither one of us are terribly familiar with the area, though I spent a brief amount of time during my college years living with an ex-girlfriend of mine. I arrived first and walked to a park, the train station in sight. I, like many writers, often–almost exclusively–write in solitude, in my kitchen, a usually controlled environment where my dog seems to always understand what’s going on. I had no idea what to expect, how I would perform writing outside of my kitchen.

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