Paris Nights
Excerpt from the novel-in-progress Paris Nights which follows an American novelist who pursues her dream of writing in Paris.
Read MoreIf Purple Gold Were...
If Purple Gold Were…
“If Purple Gold were a plant, she’d be a strain of dank weed. Violet leaves curling against crystals which sparkle metallic when they shone in the sun. She’d grow on a LA patio in an octagonal green house. Its glass walls and ceiling trapping the sun, concentrating its energy while the fan blades spun above, peacefully keeping watch.
Her grower would greet her every morning when he stumbled out into the loud sunlight. Day already too hot and bright, and it hadn’t even started. Hello beautiful, he’d say, running his hands through her leaves, stooping to inhale her warm, skunky stink.
Her grower would try to drink his coffee—sweaty with ice cubes—smoke the first J of the day, and water her all at the same time. The lighter would be misplaced, coffee put down only to be found, warm and translucent, hours later,. He’d go light the J on the stove, and smoke it with the hose in one hand, gently soaking the soil, careful not to drench her precious leaves…”
An “If My Book Were….” piece about Purple Gold as a strain of weed for Monkey Bicycle.