[Fiction] Since our first breath, we believed in truth. Truth in words. Deeds. Thoughts. This credo comes to us by breeding. A mother correcting every word, every posture, every glance. A father, not so easy to please. From the start,…

There was no way for her to get through her youth without lying. Deception was life-breath for her. So, of course, she had to become an actress, if only for the safety of center stage. I imagine she appeared a…

It’s not easy to be a liar. I say that not from any lofty moral position, but just from – from what? Being me. (Let’s not “go there;” Let’s not to go me. Not again.) Maybe it’s religion that instills…

Hi Carolyn. Nice to see you here again. I just wanted to give you a heads up that I will be on a mini retreat without cell or wifi from Thursday through Sunday this week. I will definitely responds to…

She was afraid of her own pre-teenage daughter, the daughter, her first child, who was so much like her father, it was frightening. During tolilet training, she perched this little girl on the toilet seat, gently encouraging her to poop,…

If you’re fully utilizing the good acting class lessons of truthful, powerful theatrical performance , your body believes your mind and the onstage character’s experience easily and fully becomes your personal experience as well. Or vice-versa: your truth fills the…

That’s a coy thought: “the I you know isn’t me.” What would follow? A confession of “I’m not really a nice person; I just pretend to be?” Or its opposite? “I’m not really a cruel person; sometimes I just can’t…

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Roosevelt proclaimed orphans could join up when they turned fifteen. At fifteen, John enlisted. He was put into intelligence. “Yes, sir. Fluent in German, both speaking and reading. I have no accent. It is my native tongue.” He knew his…

A persons voice is as unique as his fingerprint. Except for generalities, a particular voice may well be impossible to describe.

(Continues what you read last time.) Inside, there was a man with a blood-soaked kitchen towel wrapped around his thumb, and teenage boy with the beginnings of a black eye sleeping in a chair. The admitting nurse took one look…

I took piano lessons in an old building on the fringes of downtown McKeesport, Pennsylvania. “Progressive Music” the place was called. The lower level sold equipment – sheet music, reeds, cases and no doubt instruments themselves. The upper level had…