Stumped

I don’t mean to co-opt his story. Then again, no story — even if its cast is a single character — can be told without rubbing up against someone else’s story. Indeed, even when there is only one character in a narrative, the way that person behaves, the choices he or she makes — those… Continue reading Stumped

The Creek Elves

  He doesn’t care that I’m running past him, earbuds in. From his three-foot height, perspective is a tricky thing. Intending to slide by, I smile at the little boy. As soon as his eyes meet mine, though, words fly through the gap in his top front teeth. A big boy at age six, he shouts: “I… Continue reading The Creek Elves

Be Your Own Badass

I fear I am a one-note writer. So many of my essays are expressions of gratitude — although sometimes I bury it deeply enough that readers simply think the piece was about eating pie (blueberry up my nose) or getting new shoes (don’t touch: MINE) or loving my kids (Have you met them? They will gaze silently,… Continue reading Be Your Own Badass

Going for a Run in Turkey

[aesop_parallax img=”http://omightycrisis.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/DSC00061.jpg” parallaxbg=”on” captionposition=”bottom-left” lightbox=”on” floater=”off” floaterposition=”left” floaterdirection=”up”] I wrote the post below five years ago, when our family lived in the Cappadocia region of Turkey. Since that time, not a day goes by when I don’t feel some resonance from that experience. I look in our spice drawer in the kitchen, and I see… Continue reading Going for a Run in Turkey

Flushing the Queer Birds out of the Bushes

She was built like a hobbit hut. Squat. Stout. Solidly constructed. Unlikely to tip over, even when besieged by orcs. Then she bent down to examine something on the path, and as the elastic waistband on her denim shorts stretched to its limits, the outline of her person both shrank and expanded. Her skin was… Continue reading Flushing the Queer Birds out of the Bushes