The Quick and the Dead

Short stories. Creative experiments. Ideas that might not pan out.

The act of writing is a cathartic release. It is a processing tool. It is a walk through dreams. It introduces you to new people and places. It allows you space to pretend and to wonder. But if writing isn’t really your thing, reading is a good replacement.

I have an idea. I’ll write it, and you can read it, and then we can process and wonder together.

Recent Posts

The Burning BridgeJanuary 2, 2026
I have tried to avoid it The burning bridge at which I stand Which you continued to ignite Without a thought or plan What you would do when the fire Started spreading through the reeds How the flames might consume you As your callous, careless deeds Have consumed my thoughts for ages At your words, ill, pale with spite How your arrogance and ignorance Have dismissed my life outright. But how the stones cry out! How the earth itself is weeping While you pretend there is no fire Near the bed where you are sleeping. A fire which I grow… Read more: The Burning Bridge
A Meditation on MaryDecember 26, 2025
Much of this post was taken from an earlier post of the same title, which can be read here. Since walking the Camino de Santiago, I have had additional thoughts about Mary, and wanted to share something slightly different about her this Christmas. One of my favorite Christmas albums was recorded by Roger Whittaker, and is inauspiciously titled The Roger Whittaker Christmas Album. It was a staple in my home as a child and each Christmas I make sure to play the songs while I bake cookies and decorate the tree. I’m not sure I can pick a favorite track… Read more: A Meditation on Mary
Gramma GarletsDecember 19, 2025
Who were you, Gramma Garlets Before the photographs were packed away Stored for safe keeping in a banker box Which smells as old as what it holds When I lift to lid, to wonder? What stories would you tell me If you were here with me Instead of these leftovers Papers and folios and snapshots Of you holding babies I can’t identify Your portrait tucked at the bottom of the stack Before my grandfather, and the First World War? What did you wear on an ordinary day And did you spend your time wondering About your own grandmother, 5 generations… Read more: Gramma Garlets
JudasDecember 12, 2025
Perhaps it is strange to be thinking of Judas and the Easter story during Advent. The hope, peace, love and joy we feel at the birth of the baby is always, for me, dampened by the reality of where the story eventually leads. It’s a bit like the first time I watched Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, seeing the young boy Anakin on the screen and feeling such sorrow about where his life would take him. We know what happens to the baby, and it tugs at me each Christmas, not just because of what happens to Jesus,… Read more: Judas
How Grief WorksDecember 5, 2025
I lost my father-in-law during the advent season in 2023. His absence from our life is still poignant. There are times when my husband and I look at one another and say “I wish Ron was still alive.” A man like my father-in-law leaves a huge hole when he is gone, one that is hard to smooth over, like the places across the Western Front of the First World War, where even now, a century later, you can still see the old lines of the trenches and the where the shells fell. And so this advent, as I think of… Read more: How Grief Works
SoftNovember 28, 2025
How does one remain soft when Out of necessity She has had to yell into the face Of a fellow pilgrim on the journey “To hell with you” While they both continue to walk Towards the same Heaven? How does she not let the heart-hardening of Pharaoh Become her bread and butter Drinking the gall of that bitter elixir Because it was the only sustenance left out for her As she made her way towards God? And how does she walk beside the ones Who chose violence or ignorance or apathy When she was crying out for a friend To… Read more: Soft
Pride Is an Ugly, Ugly SinNovember 21, 2025
This is the last post for now of my unfinished stories. I think all the characters I’ve shared here have a bigger story to tell. I hope you’ve enjoyed wondering what else might happen to them. Katherine Amelia Herrington has a mantra that she says everyday as she brushes her hair. She stares at her reflection and recites six words, looking directly into her own eyes as she does. “Pride is an ugly, ugly sin,” she says. The hairbrush snags on her wet hair, then slides through easily the more strokes gives it. She dries her hair with the tiny… Read more: Pride Is an Ugly, Ugly Sin
Lydia AgnesNovember 14, 2025
This is the second of three short scenes from stories that aren’t fully written. Some of these scenes are part of a larger work that remains unfinished and some of them are from tales that haven’t come to me…yet. “Lydia Agnes,” the shepherd called. I snapped by head up, fully at attention, though I had been drifting off to sleep. The training had been grueling that morning, and now the worship service was a welcome place of quiet and reflection. It was so quiet that I had forgotten to reflect, and instead found my head bowing in a nap, rather… Read more: Lydia Agnes
Smoke on the WaterNovember 7, 2025
For the next few weeks, I’ll be posting short scenes from unfinished stories. Some of these scenes are part of larger works that remain unfinished. Others are a solitary, a single scene from a story that hasn’t come to me in any shape or form…yet. The cup sat on the table before him, and he hung his face over it, willing the smoke from the candle in his hand down into its contents, to dance on the surface of the brown water it contained. The smoke glided up, not down, and he silently cursed for what felt like the hundredth… Read more: Smoke on the Water
VisitationOctober 31, 2025
I like to think that he is you Though his red crest is unlike your gray curls And his feathered wing is not like your fragile hands But he sings and chirps and flutters as he feeds And it makes me think of you laughing While we do nothing, waiting for supper For the night to creep over the house Like the cat I knew would come out of hiding Once I had quieted down for bed. Yes, I do like to think this handsome bird is you Checking up on me all these years later. That’s why he’s always… Read more: Visitation