Tamara Nelson doesn't do hobbies_The Sled_The Tale of Lou and Lizzie_1000 stories
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Tamara Nelson doesn't do hobbies
Last night, I wrestled a brown bear in the woods. It was in my dreams but I wrestled one in the woods. I had it in a tight headlock by a river because it claimed I couldn't stick with a hobby, that Tamara Nelson doesn't do hobbies. That's when it clawed my forearms and a list of all the hobbies I quit sprung out and rolled through the trees past the river from pole dancing to needlepoint and axe throwing. And then I leaped awake with an urge to tackle a mess of hobbies and that nosy brown bear. TennisThere’s a tennis court some minute-long drive from my house. It stretches the length of a drug...
The Sled
As Sammy stood in the driveway his childhood memories overwhelmed him. It was here that he spent the first twenty years of his life and a place he hasn’t visited for a long time. Sammy realized how quickly life gets away from you and the past left behind. He tried to visit his mother, Maria, over the years but living in a different state, fulfilling his career and raising a family took precedent over regular visits. He managed to make one or two trips each year but this would be the first Christmas visit in over twenty years. Sammy and his brother, Franco, decided the visit was critical cons...
The Tale of Lou and Lizzie
It has been a quiet funeral, even though that’s not compulsory anymore. Well, that’s not entirely true. There has been soaring music, and readings, and the bells have rung, because Louisa left a specific request that they should, even though she wasn’t an especially religious woman. But it has been the kind of funeral that even a stranger would know was for sowww.onedoor.ccmeone important, someone significant, someone who has left her mark on life. But it wasn’t a huge gathering. Family and close friends only, though there’s talk that there will be some kind of memorial service in a few months, something ...
1000 stories
"The girl whose heart was winter melted into the ocean," The water felt like glass. It shattered where it met the shore, like so many broken bottles. Fae liked how it cut sharp X’s into her skin and pecked cool O’s on her neck. She lay supine on the border where the sea diluted into the sand, drifting at the edge of parallel worlds. The stripe separating them was frothy and poorly drawn as if scribbled by a child with peeling crayons. Maybe that was why the waves had no sense of boundary, spilling outside the lines. Leaving wet kisses and the taste of tears on the lips of a coast that pulled a...