Have you ever run into your partner's primary partner unexpectedly? How about on the same day that your beloved but rakish lover rolls into down, down and out because of his partner's sudden attack of the crazy? Would you maneuver them into getting brunch together? Would they hit it off? (Complete, no resolution)

This story is about a group of scientists living in the California Redwoods after the rest of the world has become a roiling mass of gray nanotech goo, courtesy of Google turning evil.

A teenage romance goes messily wrong all over a spaceport.

A commander of refugees/warriors in the zombie world war has an odd habit. Why?

During an air raid, a man on drugs displays his unfortunate sense of humor.

A colony of gourmet chefs settle on a moon of Uranus and become a tourist attraction.

This is a short fantasy scene in which a hero defeats a monster and wins the girl. It's also the result of a class assignment where we were told to write "genre fiction" and I chose fantasy and used the most cliche formula I could think of.

A short scene that ends with the beginning of a fight in a coat check room.

In the future, there might be a pseudo-religious edict against eating food created by replicators.

This is a scene in a spaceport bar.

I wrote this as a small exercise for my university's creative writing class.

I wrote this as a small exercise for my university's creative writing class.

A poem about the interesting characteristics of surety.

These are the poems that I submitted to my college's writing contest. I totally wrote then the night before the due date with a horrible cold.

Suppose that you could actually grow your own money? But aliens always make things complicated.

A researcher gets himself into trouble in a very foreign country.

I miss my RenFaire.

A future teenager discovers that he's not as alone as he thought when it comes to ridiculous hobbies.

Irreverent speculation on what could make God not give up and take a nap as entropy winds the universe to a close.

The Bank of Veronica creates a new currency in the wake of the rich and politically connected architect Monteroya, who takes over the redwood forests of the USA with flying cars in order to promote his favored style of architecture.

Frustrated by a bureaucrat-heavy medical system, a genius living in the asteroid belt resorts to identity fraud in order to see a doctor.

When a lucky researcher gets a sample of the DNA of a visiting alien dignitary, her unauthorized experiments on it just might give Earth's ambassadors a chance to get ahead in negotiations.

What does the stupid teenage daughter of the human ambassador to a race of aliens who look like a shrubbery garden do?

An alien who is part of a hive-mind offers a mans with a highly-paid job that he'd like to escape a way out. This is a 50,000 word novel that I'll post as I and fantastic beta Paperclippe edit it into shape.

How do I miss him? Let me count the ways.

This was written for the Review Game's January Writing Challenge Contest: How did we end up this way?

Frustrated with their lack of human rights and basic maintence, the sentient nuclear weapons of the Moon send a representative to plead their case with the administration, scaring the crap out of everyone in the process.

A college student driving home takes a minute to improve his life.

A furniture salesman tries to get rid of some leftover novelty items, and discovers that he'd rather be an inventor.

That's what they'll put on your tombstone- I contacted aliens while mei capilli sunt flagrantes." He also had a toaster strapped to his left foot. And the alien guard dog thought it was a deadly weapon...

Try to make their lives better, her commander had told her. While always remembering that a cow is worth three times its weight in pre-filleted human."

In an emergency, a girl considers leaving her ugly and living! phone behind as she flees.

A kind teenager in a small town has to deal with the cultural implications of a substance that negates flavor.

What if there was a store that specialized in bacon clothing, in an otherwise mostly nude society?

I wanted to document the experience of being a tentacled alien going to the grocery store on a methane planet. But it turned out to be about poisoning the grandkids.

A teenage boy tries to figure out how to land his new camera in the backyard without clipping the neighbor's orbiting space station.

Someone else changing jobs

One moment

this class is useful, but not fun.

A fictional musing on what someone might say instead of "sorry, my bad."

He's not following me, but I see him all the time.

Reasons to get an apartment rather than live in the residence halls.

Peaceful musings on young love.

The three stages of a relationship, in 47 words.

A little Beatlesinspired calm thing.

Why you shouldn't be.

Yep, I'm a morning person.

Things to not do while dying.

Winter, by the side of the road

Because I believe in just keeping doing what ya gotta do.

On the way home, we hit the semi truck again. “...The driver is hurt,” Ying said. “I didn’t think” And that was when I knew that my boyfriend had tried to kill himself, and hadn’t much minded that I was in the car too. Gods, what a mess, I thought.

He had one eye on the clock, and one eye on his colleague, whom he had never before been wary of. But a man who could quit his wife over music and music over his wife was crazier than most musicians, w

It waqs a scholarship essay past the due-date; it was a comment on art class and the demons that everyone carries around.

A musician's friends are musicians. Now try saying that in pentameter, any kind of pentameter- ugh.

There are two types of love poetry, and one is sickly sweet and one is grumpy. This is not my Truth- but it may be someone's.

Music is such a strong influence- it sets the tone for life. Playing music is life- it's the step beyond just listning.

Chain-letters that threaten zombie death if you fail to send them to fifteen friends are irritating. Don't send them on Halloween. Why? Guess.

They're... graduating. Which is good. Good luck, heart-friends.

... There was more to say, so I said it and maybe I'm wrong?

"Awake with a start/ As if I'd heard a bell or a horn" A large amount of poetry; the good bits that I've winnowed from my large mass of words, worlds.

I'd sight-read all day for an audience of thousands/ If the other choice was to abstain from my notes/ For three seconds more than the time I need to breathe."

Looking at the sky when it was clearing up, I had to write this down.

I read, and I want to write!

Random poetry that I found among other things. Fun.

"When the ship lifts, all bills are paid."

A rhythm that bit me and became a poem.

"I can lust over every male in the park, /And only want one: a particular one."

When I'm emotional, I quote. Shakespeare, mostly. It surprised me when I quoted myself!

A mildly impolite collection of what I think of friendship. In verse.

Typical teenage situation. I know that! And it's freshly hewn for every one of us. I guess I'm not actually over my ex.

"And like a half-hatched chick, /I breathe outside air to sustain me /Until this gum-brick shell may let me go." I've outgrown high school, mostly.

These poet-people! Unskilled in writing, untutored in verse... And me worse.

The phone doesn't shut off at midnight and I'm probably awake anyway... /Barring God and Satan making shaych sounds in my backyard/I promise not to go anywhere I can't be found.

I saw this one poem... and it made me laugh, and write my own. Fluffy and dark.

A gradual-growth collection of my good poetry.

You know, I shed quite enough blood accidentially. "Scars are ourselves; they're all we are." Please come in; as an added bonus, I review back.

"And words that still sting a bit-/ I wrote them to sting..."

Parents. "I'd like a day without a gay demeanor about it-/ A day with no calming breaths, no careful words/ -Basically a day without them." Preferrably lots of days.

Shakespeare makes me think... strange things. The real story of how I feel about my ex. :)

Political poetry... what on earth have I come to? I'm not bemoaning anything in specific. America needs a brain.

when you write love poetry, and then fall out of love, and then go back and reread said poetry...

This is a band story, of what happened in Vegas. You don't need to be in band to read it or to understand it because love and headache and happiness and agony are all comprehensible by heathens.

"Maybe it’s a girl thing, to want to slap idiots who say they “don’t like reading.” Not all information is on the TV, dumb-butt. If it was, I would be well-informed... and suicidal. "

I'm closer to crazy than they think I am.

It looked better before I uploaded it. I've been having a hard time with my parents recently.

A memory of how i felt two years ago- about the same as I feel now.

Grumpy poetry because of parents... don't we all do it?

Grumpy poetry. I've had a bad day and I'm tired...

A musician, a sometime writer, and a medicore poet- forgetting to practice for one day is more pain than pleasure.

I _like_ this one. It feels like me. A girl in a psych-critic's office, being normal... and thinking about her own Erised, I guess. it's been bothering me. Someone else's solution.

Ah, artificial writing. Doesn't it feel good?

Writing poetry _commercially_ is different; doing it because you want to, most of the time it comes out sad.

A short one about it's own genre. Come look; I review back.

Why are they not walking up to the stage, under their golden robes naked? Such an empty, gaping hole is a rose! I review back. And it's good poetry, maybe. Come in.

This is just a reminder of some things that everyone knows and no one really thinks about... even when they should. So far: The Major Stuff, The Minor Stuff, and now... ladies and gentlemen... The Strange Stuff!

This is another one of my "good-natured" poems. I review back.

This is the story of a high school marching band, and the reason why hats are very useful. it is completely true to life... and, well, the names are all here. Ah well. Shoot me, everyone knows anyway.

The first is a starting where I am and a lapsing into memory; ... the last a lonely thought without matter. REVIEW ME AND I'LL RETURN THE FAVOR.

The Princess and the Pope love each other. And the dragons just flame things. If you review me, I'll review you.

...And then I wrote poetry about it.

Clarinet is a musical instrument. At least, it is when I'm not playing it.

PG for people being miserable and dead. And this _is_ historical. Future history.