“The Seal of the Confessional” Excerpt

First two pages of my story “The Seal of the Confessional.” If there’s one thing I love about writing fiction, it’s taking characters and completely destroying their spirits/putting them under immense pressure. In this, I’m beginning to destroy a Priest. My mind.

Father Daniel Halloran, of the Old Cambridge Baptist Church, could smell something vulgar through the latticed opening of the confessional, much like car exhaust. It was a smell for blackened lungs and while it wasn’t so much a physical smell, it did creep through his nostrils only to caress his brain and every wrinkle on it.

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Holiday Writing Prompts!!

My favorite part about the holiday’s this time of year is all the stories you get from actual experiences. I’m all about writing from experience, and am currently working on a story derived from an event that happened a few Christmas’ ago.

Here, as the title suggests, are some writing prompts that follow the theme of the holiday season, all derived from my experiences or experiences of friends and family:

  1. You and a neighbor are in a silent competition of who can decorate the exterior of their house better.
  2. Dad says you can’t celebrate Christmas anymore if you continue playing with a dreidel.
  3. Mom starts to make a pie until she realizes the brown sugar is too hard to bake with. She sends you out to get more.
  4. The nativity scene at the Catholic college you attend has a baby Jesus that students like to steal. As a result, the department of public safety has put a tracker in the baby Jesus statue. Tell the story on how you stole baby Jesus and are being hunted down by DPS.
  5. You’re on the hunt for the perfect outfit that says “I may be emo but I still love Christmas”
  6. Not to be dramatic, but New Years Eve/Day is cancelled until something good happens this year.
  7. This year, Christmas Eve and Hanukkah fall on the same day. Talk about all the chain texts you receive, and the aftermath of them.
  8. Fabricate your own holiday song and track its success (or lack thereof) among peers.
  9. Consider this twist to a classic fairy tale, you’ll know the one: A brother and sister battle a witch who uses fruit cake and roasted chestnuts to lure teenagers into her home.
  10. Christmas caroling except you’re standing outside your ex’s house yelling obscenities.


With love, Alyssa

“It Started With the Magnifying Glass” pt 1.

The featured image is of the comments my Professor wrote at the end of my story for our class’ workshop. I cried when reading it. It was all I ever wanted to hear.

The featured image is of the comments my Professor wrote at the end of my story for our class’ workshop. I cried when reading it. It was all I ever wanted to hear.

Continue reading ““It Started With the Magnifying Glass” pt 1.”

Prompt: “I can’t support you anymore”

It takes two to mango

In everyone’s favorite creative writing workshop a few weeks ago, the one I feverishly plan on being on the eboard next semester for, one of four prompts was: Fiction- “I can’t support you anymore.”

While I did not write a piece of fiction, I did write a haiku. Disclaimer: it’s not based off someone I know, from as far as you can tell, at least.


I can’t support you

When you eat mango pulp from

Hefty, black trash bags


Please, spin me a tale of someone you can no longer support, and write, possibly in haiku form, why you can’t support them anymore.

With love, Alyssa

Photo by: Watercolor Artist Susaleena, Susaleena.com. Her paintings are hyper-realistic and vibrant.

Time is Running Backwards

Time is running backwards. I saw her. She’s fast too. Her calves and ankles must be spectacular.

Finals begin next week so I haven’t been writing to the best of my ability, but I’d like to put forth a piece that I wrote last week in my favorite creative writing workshop: The Inkwell.

Prompt: Time is running backwards. Where is time going? What is time doing? Etcetera.

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He Thought of Them Every Moment

Writing letters had become second hand knowledge. It started with the first one, a general I moved in, I miss you anecdote to Simon’s parents.

Hey y’all. For my english class, we were assigned books to read and do a number of projects on. The book I received was Nalini Jones’ auspicious debut, What You Call Winter, and by all means, it’s exactly What You Call a Good Read (Get it? I’m so sorry). I highly recommend it if you favor short stories. With that said, these short stories are unlike any others. Nalini Jones masters the art of weaving stories together through the lives of an extended family by tracing the ways that small actions, events, and traits of a character can affect family members down the line. This is especially tangible when you’re given the same characters at different ages, for example, in “In the Garden,” we’re given a tale of nine-year-old Marian, and later on in “We Think of You Every Day,” a twelve-year-old and sixteen-year-old Marian are brought into play. The collection of interwoven stories isn’t linear, making the shifts forward and backwards in time from chapter to chapter a bit confusing to follow. Still, once you get the hang of it, it proves to be quite imperative.

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Housewarming… Literally

If anyone’s curious, a line from my first draft was: “…I’d spy with my big eyes white foam gushing everywhere at the hands of a man…” I’m very sorry.

For a little over a week, I’ve been counting down until March 2nd, a Wednesday. On February 23rd, I hastily wrote a short story which I planned on submitting to a club’s literary magazine. However, the train got somewhat derailed. That last Tuesday in February, I sat down and in forty minutes, gave birth to a story masked with a number of sexual innuendo’s that I didn’t originally catch. After reviewing the feedback I was given and pondering on advice, I decided to submit the story to my college’s student-run newspaper. On March 2nd, the issue in which my story was featured in was printed and left around campus, giving me the opportunity to pick up several copies (One for myself to frame, one for my mom [who shouldn’t be reading what I wrote – honestly. Her heart couldn’t take it. You’ll see what I mean shortly.], one for me to actually read, and a few extra to hand out as party favors or birthday gifts.).

The day finally came and went, but not without me talking about the elephant in the room; the elephant in the room being what it is solely due to a number of lines that my friends and I all raised eyebrows to. With that, I give you the edited final copy of a story near and dear to my heart:

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