Clock Without a Key

Today I have something different in store for you. This is a short story that I actually wrote a year or two ago, but this past week, I took another look at it and revised it.  Recently, after a two-year break, I have once again begun submitting short stories to magazines and journals. Writing short stories is honestly one of my favorite things to do. Furthermore, now that I have taken novel writing and revision courses in my college studies, I feel like my skills have improved in not only novel writing, but also in short story writing as well. Hope you enjoy!

Eleanor sat, holding the last piece of her parents she had. She was trying desperately not to cry, but the tears seemed to come all on their own. She ran her hands over the sterling hallmarks of butterflies, birds, and cherubs that rimmed the clock in her hands. It was expensive, but the man who’d sold it to her father had lost his job, as many in London had, and was desperate, so her father had gotten it for a great amount less than what it was actually worth.

Eleanor’s aunt and uncle told her that she was mad for keeping a clock that didn’t work. It would, she always told them, if she had the clock key, but it had been lost in the fire, along with everything else she’d ever loved. She knew that burglaries and crimes were running rampant in London lately, especially on the West End, but she never expected that tragedy would befall her family. Continue reading


What Are You, Home?

Before I start my first apostrophe, there is something I’d like to note. In my previous post, I said that most of my apostrophes are written to some type of person: imaginary, real, or unspecific. While this is true, I have decided to start out with an apostrophe that is not addressed to a person, as I feel that the type of apostrophe I have written below gives us a better example of what an apostrophe is and what it is like. Now, bear with me here, because although this gives us a better idea of what an apostrophe is, these types of apostrophes are more difficult to write. With that said, here is my apostrophe to an abstract concept:

Home. Where are you, exactly? Because somehow, I have ended up with two of you. I didn’t think that was possible, but clearly it is, because here I am.

Before college, you were simple. For me, you were a little brown house in the heart of Northwoods Wisconsin, and I would even expand that to include the surrounding small town of only 2,000 people. Each of your seasons there has a different, lovely smell, and even though summer has always been my favorite season, my favorite scents were of fall and spring. Fall always smells like leaves, and as more and more leaves descend and are crushed underneath our shoes, the smell only gets stronger and more pleasant, marking a coming change in the Wisconsin landscape. Continue reading