I awoke to a white room—white light, white ceiling, white walls, white sheets, white nurse

He stood mid-stage, shirt opened to the navel, revealing a chestful of dark curly hair

After my husband died, Mr

"The Lynchings," my unpublished ms, top 5 in Freddie Award for Writing Excellence in thriller category

Freedom from him is what I want

You hope he misses? You hope? That's a sniper rifle he's shooting

A handful of hope and no action will get you nothing, Argus

Editing my head off

"It ain't that I don't care for you; it's just that I don't understand you when you use big words like cannikin

I looked at his ugly mug and surrendered to that hate brewing in my gut