Creative Writing:

An adult career filled with clear and concise marketing copy was preceeded by a background of a fair amount of creative writing for personal and expressive reasons.

For the Last Time: ‘Creative Writing’ and ‘Content Writing’ Are Different

Copy & Content & Creative, Oh My!

My career has focused my writing on advertising copy, content marketing, and on putting "Butts in Seats." But I have written material for my own internal creative purposes, as well. It's important when writing for any reason to ensure the work is creative enough to engage, but still focused on the mission of the message. The mission and message of the creative writing work below is subject to your interpretation.


My Short Fiction:


Once Upon A Timeless

...I awake sitting in a chair at this desk. They look old, the chair and the desk, antique, and yet not worn. The wood is dark and beautiful, and intricately carved in shapes that I cannot fully recognize. The legs of the table and chair are crooked, like a dog's leg, and when I look at them long enough, I can almost see faces and bodies in the intricate carving. It is like looking at clouds, and finding within their shapes people you have known...


Smoke Bubble

...The two steps that took him out into the hall seemed like a journey into a different country. The foreign language of drunk-speak was bouncing heavily up and down the hallway. Odie's nose was assaulted by the strong and bitter smell of beer and as he took his first unsteady step a wet spot under his shoe squished at him. He began twisting his way around knots of people to get down the hallway. It was slow going. They were all strewn about, leaning on walls or walking unsteadily towards the bathroom. Odie came across a guy passed out in the middle of the hall. He stepped gingerly over him... and right into the hot beer-breath of argument...



...Tim reached into the bag beside him and pulled out another Frito. He crunched it off-handedly, thinking intensely. Maybe the water wasn't deep enough. He looked quickly at the rest of the pond and felt a twinge of bitterness when he realized that he was already at its deepest part, right by the big, concrete pipe that drained off the overflow. This wasn't a real pond. Tim lived in the suburbs, the stupid suburbs, and this was one of those fake ponds that they arbitrarily plant in the middle of selected suburban park-ettes. And, as ponds went, it was pretty stupid. Because it wasn't deep enough...