I write sometimes. Now you get the whole Dead Writers thing. It's all coming together! Movies in the Cemetery is a creative nonfiction piece I wrote for Hippocampus Magazine. The story is a reflection on grief*. Below is the first page, click the link to continue reading if you are so inclined.
"It is twilight and a misty fog dances between the bars of the foreboding wrought iron gate. The movie starts in ten minutes; we just spent thirty minutes looking for parking along the mangled side streets parting like veins from Santa Monica Boulevard in Hollywood. It’s fine, though; no one’s standing in line, just an empty roped off queue. The ushers take our ten-dollar donations and we sidle past them laden with sleeping bags, blankets and groceries from Trader Joe’s.
We have a bit of a hike before us, and there’s not much in the way of light: just a few lampposts near the main office building and then winding lanes surrounded by freshly mown lawns, weeping willow trees, and moss covered benches. It’s September, so the weather is nice, getting cooler but still temperate and even keel. Everyone is already assembled for the movie, so it’s quiet as we walk along the paths; we’re careful not to veer off trail lest we be accused of being disrespectful. Dark gray marble slabs with etched in names and in some cases faces – greet us. Beginning dates of long ago and end dates of before we were born hold silent vigil. We’re here to watch a James Dean movie Rebel Without a Cause, and the silent repose of still reflection pools and white mausoleums gives rise to eerie, unpleasant thoughts about ashes and dust." Read the rest on Hippocampus.
*I'm fun at parties.