• Divorce,  life

    The Shattered Pieces

    When things fall apart, the broken pieces allow all sorts of things to enter, and one of them is the presence of God. – Shauna Niequist Denial. It’s a poison that many of us like to carry around with us, and it is something that can kill our dreams, those around us, even ourselves if we’re not careful. Unfortunately, denial is the poison I sipped upon for months after my divorce. I thought I was okay. I thought it wasn’t affecting me very much. And that’s the beauty of denial – it’s able to seep down into the deepest roots of our being, blind us to the truth, and destroy…

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – The Princess of Para

    The frosted glass allowed the morning’s luminescence to bleed into the castle, filling the hallway with bright white light that flowed gracefully across the white marble flooring, the brownish-gray walls, and the ivory doors of the servants’ quarters. The scent of bacon and potatoes filled the wide corridor, signaling breakfast, but the silence that permeated the thick tile and even thicker walls gave the illusion it was still night when everyone slumbered and hid from the darkness within the darkness. Irasta walked barefoot across the tiles, the undersides of her feet chilled by the lingering cold that seized the fortress each night. She momentarily missed the comfort of her own…

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – Hidden

    Blood soaked the carpet, surrounding Rune like a blossoming rose. What he thought would have been the killing blow by Hastings simply put him in a state of misery he had never experienced before. His skull ached as if it were being tightened in a vice, and the rest of his broken form cried out in echoes of pain that mimicked the agonizing cries of a banshee. He didn’t have to guess that his wounds might be fatal by this point. And even if they weren’t, he knew Hastings would finish the job once he was finished cleaning up his wounded face. But the fact that Rune might be at…

  • Writing

    Small Sacrifices

    The receptionist at the front desk wore a long white lab coat, but Brittany doubted she was a doctor. Or a nurse. Or in any way related to the medical field. She carried a bit of weight in her stomach and cheeks, and she smelled like wildflower-scented soap. Her scent was much like that of Brittany’s grandmother, and it made Brittany want to throw up. Just show me where to sign. The clipboard rose over the counter like a starship and landed in front of Brittany’s trembling hands. She noticed her black nail polish had chipped on several fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she had painted them. She…

  • Uncategorized

    The Value Of Perseverance

    perseverance noun – 1. steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc., especially in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement. It’s a word I don’t hear much these days, let alone see in action. The act of staying on course regarding one’s goals, despite difficulty and discouragement, seems to be something of a rarity nowadays. I grew up in an age where perseverance was the norm. When people had a goal, when they had a dream, they ran after it with everything they had. They didn’t give up, they didn’t pull out a multitude of excuses, they didn’t cast blame for their surrender to others. I…

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – Jennifer Glass And The Resurrection

    The sound of the hammer hitting those awful nails made Jennifer Glass sick to her stomach. Something about the way the instrument hit iron or the fact that those nails were piercing the flesh of an innocent man, sent her stomach reeling. That was awhile ago, before He was lifted to the cross. Jennifer fought the urge to lurch forward, although she knew it would ease her nausea to do so. She didn’t dare move, though there was no reason she couldn’t or shouldn’t. Those gathered around the foot of the large cross couldn’t see her, but it didn’t stop her from feeling a pang of anxiety that she might…

  • Uncategorized

    Jaded

    There was a time I knew who I was. It was very long ago, back when I was still in grade school. Back then – back in the 90’s – I could care less if people liked me. I was comfortable in my own skin, as weird as it was, and I thrived on moving through life to the beat of my own drum. It was a period in which I made many forgettable enemies, but also made many unforgettable friends. Those who gravitated toward me were those who saw me for who I truly was and found they enjoyed that version of David Alderman. Those who hated me hated…

  • Writing

    The Friday Muse – Level 3

    Blood. Lots of blood, smeared on the walls, smeared on her face and arms. It was thick, and it smelled sweet. She inhaled a deep breath and fell in love with the scent. She would wear it as a perfume if she could. The blood wasn’t hers, of course. This fact alone would have supplied some level of relief for X88 if she cared. But she didn’t care. She didn’t have the time nor the strength to care about those she had to mow through to get to Level 3. The day had rewound like it always did. At 11:59:59 the night before, the day – the program – restarted,…

  • Uncategorized

    Distractions

    Every day, it’s the same thing. Over and over and over again. Distractions. On Friday evenings, I set up my schedule for the next week. I fill out my calendar in Thunderbird, I scribble out various tasks and projects that need to get done in the following week, and then I set myself up to follow the schedule as if it were being imposed upon me by a high-paying employer. But each week it’s the same thing. Over and over and over again. Monday starts off great. Projects are getting done, tasks are being checked off. Work runs from morning to night, and I place my head on the pillow…

  • Writing

    The Bus To Providence

    The heat is what drove her to near madness. The desert was not kind to visitors mid-summer, nor did it care to have anyone spoiling its serene botany and verdant wildlife. If it were a person, if it dwelt among us in human form, the desert would be a harsh lover with a heart of stone, one who only made contact with others to fulfill its need for rainwater. Josephine took a seat on the dry and dusty bench, setting her purse down next to her. Surprisingly, the bench looked like it hadn’t been used in quite some time. But if the rumors were to be believed, this bench was…