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Bad Writing

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When you're scared to write badly, that's when you write. You are probably trying to tell the truth.

Relative

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The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 59

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When I returned to Brooklyn, I discovered some explicit nude paintings of a former student of Francesco's from the Art Students League.

What I Learned From Magazines This Week

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In his heyday, Burt Reynolds owned $100,000 worth of custom-made toupees.

The Stoplight

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We agreed I would go back up to the cabin for another bottle.

Bare Feet

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Bare feet on hardwood floor Twists into circles

Don't Let Bears Give You a Headache

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You think about bears and it gives you a headache? Don’t give them that power. You see bears and it gives you a headache? Don’t run. Don’t walk but don’t run.

A Child is Born

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I came out of the Quick Stop and found her in the back seat of my ten-year-old Camry. I don’t know who she is, or why she chose my car. I do know she’s having a baby any minute now.

REM-Embering my LED

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Someone desperately dials a number. Iris, draped tight.

The Fourth Prague Defenestration: 1

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Defenestration - the act of throwing someone out of a window. I went to Prague recently to visit my family’s castle, which is called Krivoklat. I’m not even going to attempt to explain to you how to pronounce that. It’s outside Prague, about an hour t

Of Dreams that Dance and Die, Before the Drums

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At eight o' clock: as, drawn by many bells, The patchwork congregation lopes and stalks, To churches far from serenade of shells To storms, we leave behind the windblown walks, And sails of youth, to glide through liquid hells, A temporal…

Epilogue as Prologue

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There is no heartbeat, Mrs Stirling.

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I lost a baby two years ago. At 8.5 weeks after seeing her heart beat. I haven't been able to talk about it, but I can write about it. My throat cracks and splinters when I begin to form a thought or word or phrase. I took such great care when…

A House Burning

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There won't be dancing, anymore. That isn't true, that can't be true; but there is no floor to dance on, you know?

The Only Tricks We Know

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The day Eugene told me his secret he gave me a bouquet of lilies. Ice clung to the petals like fuzz. Sorry about the frost, he said. That was an accident.

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 58

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On October 14, 2009 Oriana Morosini appeared as the guest author on America’s most popular live television book show: The Author Answers

A Scalar Boson a Day

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. . . the empiricism of the mechanical had wound tight into her, lessons her few calendars could never impart without aid from sundials, hourglasses, clocks.

Arcana Magi Pure Vol.6 - c.3

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The streets were filled with animals of the forest. All in a panic trying to find a direction. Mixed among them were members of various Clans that lived in the forest.

Aristeia

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And no one died achieving aristeia/ in this battle. We have come/ at least some little distance.

Hello? It’s Me!

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But I surely did recognize Rayburn Moon; Rayburn and I dated for about five minutes back then

A Good Sized Puddle Suits the Fish Between My Ears

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Tell me everything about yourself, if I could care, I can pretend, let me pretend.

The Other Side

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The Fourth Prague Defenestration: Prologue

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My first and so far only visit to my homeland of Prague was first described to me by a tourist guidebook, which laid out many of the fundamentals one must follow while travelling there. It was pointed out, for instance, that we would be “unlikely to enc

During the Interim

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Nothing changes; the moon arcs its mindful lemon eye. . .

A Night in the Trailer of the Headlining Band

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Take

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Mother O'Grady's Last

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Christmas night was closing in at the Cantrips alehouse in Aberdeen, a firm favourite for riggers and other men and women who lived life close to the horizon. Sometimes, on a Saturday night, things might get a bit rowdy but Mother O'Grady would stand firm and bring out…

Reunion

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You’d think we all would have learned something in our hearts since the towers fell, he thought, as Amy slid away from him. You had to get some perspective on the city, some view from outside, far outside, maybe from space, which would have afforded them

The Nude Pianist: A Novel: Chapter 57

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"Ben! Ben!" yelled Monique. "Did you hear me?"

Death

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fate is an illusion we use to ease the terror of our mortality