Category Archives: Fiction

I Dream Murder (53)

Posted on April 1, 2012 by Riba

My flash fiction dream the other morning isn’t the first narrated dream I’ve had, only the first time I’ve woken with it more or less intact, the first time I’ve reached for my notebook upon waking, the first time the … Continue reading →

Posted in Dreaming, Dreams, Fiction, Writing | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

I Dream Flash Fiction (52)

Posted on April 1, 2012 by Riba

Today I wake up a writer. The jumble of my morning dreaming ends with a short narrated dream. It has a male narrator, maybe in his late thirties, and the dream is almost whole when I wake. I know if … Continue reading →

Posted in Fiction, Musings, People, Reflections, Self-reflection, Thoughts, Writing | 3 Comments

If My Soul Were a City (43)

Posted on February 3, 2012 by Riba

If my soul were a city it would be called Sueño. Dream. It would sit beside the sea, and the citizens would serve the sea creatures in our bay. The whales would come, and we would stand ankle-deep in the … Continue reading →

Posted in Animals, Birds, Daily life, Fiction, Gratitude, Life, Music, Prayer, Writing | Tagged , | 2 Comments

Maybe I Do Love Writing (42)

Posted on January 19, 2012 by Riba

Maybe I do love writing like I’d love a sister who could set my teeth clenching like no other, whose icky tone of voice would mirror mine, who might not speak her judgment out loud but the phone would be … Continue reading →

Posted in Blogging, Family, Fiction, Friends, Life, Musings, Reflections, Thoughts, Writing | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

Why I Write (40)

Posted on January 6, 2012 by Riba

I write because I love language. I write because I am a terrible snob, and I believe only my truth is real. I write in order to dig to China. I write to meet dragons and dolphins and stand before … Continue reading →

Posted in Blogging, Blogs, Fiction, Fun, Inspiration, Thoughts, Writing | Tagged , , | 6 Comments

The Man at the Bus Stop (36)

Posted on December 14, 2011 by Riba

There is a man with a suitcase sitting at the bus stop when I arrive. He is younger, maybe in his early forties (though I am not always good with ages). He has blonde hair that goes to the shoulders … Continue reading →

Posted in Daily life, Fiction, Life, People, Thoughts, Writing | Tagged , , | 5 Comments