Stephanie Klein Greek Tragedy

Last night, I went through a guided visualization exercise.  I had to picture in my mind a safe place.  I imagined the family room den from the house in which I was raised.  I was relaxing on the green sofa,…

He knows he can have me.  It’s something he won’t forget, like his own birthday.  He knows I’d leave you if he asked.  If he stepped up, said, “ready.”  If only he’d say so.  Save you from you.
 
He…

My bedroom
Once upon a fiction writing class ago, I was told to write about the contents of my character’s purse.  Next, her closet, cupboards, nightstand table.  What does she post on her refrigerator door?  The things we keep, the…

I crawled into bed last night, my red notebook and red pen easily accessible on my bedside table, and fell asleep to the most appropriate bedtime story. I’ve decided to keep a dream journal.  I’m convinced I’ll get premonitions about…

To create realistic dialogue, I was once instructed to eavesdrop on conversations.  Write it down without the he said, she said clarification.  “It will become obvious who’s saying what,” I was told.  Clearly, she wasn’t eavesdropping at The Bar at…

Knowing I wanted to be a writer smelled like crayons.  Call it a Pavlovian premonition, but I "knew," the way you are suddenly certain of something without proof or reason… the way dogs know when their owners on their journey…

New York is fcuked up. I’m in Starbucks, recounting last night, and there’s a Latino, balding, pony-tailed man waiting for the traffic light to give him the go. It’s a busy corner, across from ABC. Usually, I spot Smelly Rippa…

Once upon a time ago these ladies bit their nails over a dude. They cared, very much, what his parents might think, if they’d approve, give their blessing. They spent years worrying about finding a husband, only to grow old…