One Paragraph Short Stories & Poems in My Self-Published Books
I like to keep things short and sweet: my minidresses, my showers, and of course, my one paragraph short stories and poems. In my self-published books, I have quite a few of them. Punchy, poignant, to the point. It’s not that I can’t write a longgg story—I’ve written a full-length novel before and have published a book of short stories that include an array of necessary paragraphs. Yet, there’s something addictive about reading in barely-there bursts.
Microscopic short stories are compact narratives that deliver an arc—character, conflict, and resolution—within a single tightly written paragraph; they demand precision in word choice, rhythm, and image so that every sentence carries weight, allowing readers to experience a full emotional or thematic payoff in just a few lines. Whether it’s a quiet epiphany, a surprising twist, or a vivid slice of life, making them ideal for modern readers with limited time.
One Paragraph Short Stories & Poems in My Self-Published Books
Feels Like You
Stars and palm trees on a warm West Hollywood night. Movie studios and psychics with neon signs. Driving your convertible through Laurel Canyon. The backs of my thighs sticking to the smooth leather seats. Wind whipping wildly across my bare collarbones. Necklaces shivering. Your side smile. The window to your soul as clear as the California sky. Strolling hand-in-hand. A kiss in a café so busy we get lost in the chatter. Bubbles on my tongue. Adolescent curiosity. Dinner at Chateau Marmont. Your breath, pickled with possibilities, prickling my neck. Making love to the moonlight atop your cloud-like couch. Home.
Two For One
“I only wanted one baby and again I got twins,” she cried, before the medicine kicked in.
The Myth Of Manifestation
I used to walk into a crowded restaurant and wish I’d see you at the bar. Or I’d arrive, groomed and glamorous, at a girlfriend’s party and hope you were there; a friend of a friend. When I’d walk down the street, I’d wonder if you might drive by and recognize me. Would you stop? Say hello? Offer me a ride? Or just keep going? But now I’m not there and you are and I’ve missed my chance. Not that I really had one to begin with, if we’re being honest—which, at least part of me hopes to stay. Honest. If the universe is listening, maybe I’ll see you again. However, it’s doubtful. I think the universe has me on mute. You’re spun throughout my mind like a web from a spider but even stronger than my arachnophobia is the fear that my manifesting isn’t working and never will. No matter how hard I think about it, how many stars I wish upon or dandelion puffs I blow into the field, no matter how many times I see the clock tick towards 11:11, you’re still heartbreakingly unattainable; behind my screen but never just you and me: at the bar or the party or the cracked sidewalks in my old neighbourhood. Maybe the world is saving me from myself and my foolish fascination. It’s better if you’re there and I’m here and there’s no chance to be missed.
Unrequited
I don’t think you like me. At least, not in the way I want you to.
Short, sweet, and sad stories can be found in a variety of places both online and in print: literary magazines, journals, and of course, my own self-published books. Most of them can be found in Too Busy 4 Heartbreak. I have a collection of other short stories in Thirteen Emotions, but those ones are a little longer. In my pocket-sized poetry book, you’ll find 49 poems, thoughts, and stories about lost dreams, sacrifices, and being a busy woman in a life that isn’t totally her own.
—ᴍᴍᴍ