The Beginning

As someone who graduated with a BA in English, I like the creativity writing affords me.  Writing feels like a release and something that keeps me sane.  I always thought I would write for a career and work somewhere with other, literary people who talked books all day.  Enter real world.  I work for a defense contractor in DC and, while I like it, I’ve realize I need to keep writing stories and creating to keep myself happy.

So, I created this blog site to post my stories.  I’m challenging myself to post something every day – whether it be 2 pages or 1 paragraph – of an original story.  I have slipped into the bad habit of saying I’m going to write “someday.”  Instead of waiting for someday, I’m making that day today.

My first story is about a boy named Charlie.  Charlie is your average 11 year old except for one thing – he can float.  In fact, his body will float without his consent unless he constantly tells himself to stay down.  I appreciate your comments as to how I can make these stories better!


This is the beginning of something great.  Something strange.  If you don’t like strange, great things, put this book down and walk away.  Run away, if possible.  Because strange, great things have a way of pulling you back in even after you thought you escaped.  It grabs you from behind.  It whispers intoxicating words in your ear.  Come with me, it beckons. Its touch is lighter than air and feels like the wind on the first, perfect spring day after a long winter. So, on second thought, maybe you shouldn’t put this book down.  It would only call you back.

The strange-great thing involves a boy.  And a talent – or curse – depending on whether you see your glass half full or half empty.  So sit down, get comfortable, and listen to Charlie’s story.

On the outside, Charlie was like every other boy on his street.  He played baseball and knew the stats of every player on the Yankees roster.  He hated peas and always tried to hide them under his plate when his mom made them for dinner.  He had a collection of magnets from every state he had ever visited – 26 so far.  But no matter what he looked like on the outside, Charlie was different.

Charlie didn’t know when it started, but he knew it was getting worse.  If he didn’t constantly remind himself to stay firmly planted on the ground, Charlie would float.  If his mind wandered, his body would forget the laws of gravity and his feet would leave the ground.  Charlie would float a few millimeters at most, almost indiscernible to ordinary people, before he snapped back to attention.  He would be pondering the songs of birds.  How did they learn them?  Were they always the same?  What were the birds saying to each other? And feel his feet leave the ground.

Charlie used to be able to hide his condition quite well.  Only his parents knew.  His grandmother, a great artist, had suffered from a similar condition, only she could reach the clouds if she got too carried away.  Charlie had only ever managed about a foot, although he’d never tested himself.  The ground felt safe and solid to him.  The air just seemed full of uncertainty and impending disaster.  Charlie was always able to live with his condition and keep it a secret from everyone at school.  But one day he woke up on the ceiling.

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