Flash fiction

Photo by Nigel Tadyanehondo on Unsplash

It is all very specific, all very calculated. I must be at the train station by 6:30 am to get a decent parking space. Seven minutes is the most grace I can get. I’ve timed it. The train comes at 6:50 am sharp and I get on, always in the quiet car. These days I’ve decided to sit in the backward-facing seats just for practice. There could be a crowded morning and my equilibrium was thrown off that one time. That won’t happen again.

When I arrive at Penn Station, I take the E, close to the end of the…

Increasing efficiency to make space for my writing life

Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels

I do not consider writing a side hustle in a traditional sense. It is the fulfilment of a dream, first and foremost. Second, it is a proof of concept. It is possible to make money from writing, a reality that debunks my long-held beliefs about creative careers. Third, the creative outlet helps maintain good mental health.

I have had an overwhelmingly positive experience digging into writing essays, short stories, and poetry, but I’m feeling the pull of the writing life. I would like to write full time, but don’t have the means to do so right now. …

When it feels like time is running out

Photo by Karolina Grabowska from Pexels

Dear Fellow Millennials,

Here we are, on the cusp of 40 or already there. We imagined 30 was somehow over the hill, but that’s a youth-worship lie from the pit of hell.

Where we are now is the real eye-opener and boy has it been a doozy.

What society rarely talks about is that now is when we have to watch our cholesterol and blood sugar. We have to start considering hereditary conditions and make choices that will affect our futures. The disregard in our twenties can no longer stand and we may have to accept medication to help. We…

Changing the landscape of stock photography

Photo by Alyssa Sieb on Nappy.co

I was looking for a photo to pair with a draft and was more quickly scrolling since my query seemed misconstrued by Unsplash. I noticed something curious: almost every photo was of a blonde white woman.

The history of photography is racially biased, originally using a white woman as a test image for color correction, called the Shirley Card. In the 1960s and 1970s, it took chocolatiers and furniture makers complaining to Kodak about bad brown tones and wood grain detail capture for standards to change. Even today, few filmmakers in television and movies are getting the richness of black…

Flash fiction

Photo by Alycia Fung from Pexels

I held my nose closer onto the cold marble floor. My limbs were spread wide revealing my surrender. Something firm pressed against my back. Harder.

“Don’t move.” His voice was low and gruff like a mile of dirt road.

I shut my eyes and focused on the blackness. Checkered patterns swirled and red flashes pulsated behind my eyelids. There was the deafening echo of the bank manager’s heels pounding, seemingly fearless, toward one of our captors. An exchange was being made. I peeked to see her right foot pointed out in a casual stance. Her arms were surely akimbo. She…

It’s about perspective

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

T o know why pennies for my thoughts make me happy, you have to know a little of the backstory.

My first-generation American siblings already know: your family wanted you to be a doctor. Or a lawyer. Engineer comes in third.

My parents came to the US a few years apart in the late 1970s and early 1980s. They came from places where the stakes were high. Choices for advancement were few, and those who did not strive for the top could lay begging for their daily bread. If you wanted better, if you wanted more, you could not stay.


Side effects we didn’t anticipate

Photo by Tammy Gann on Unsplash

This post is an entry in Modern Parent’s “Am I Doing This Right?” writing contest.

The US was abuzz about a deadly virus ravaging Eastern Asia. There was still limited information but it was all so far away. We could not conceive it traveling to our shores. But the mighty pandemic wave soon overtook Europe. We could no longer pretend to be immune.

It was a Friday afternoon in late February when we received the news that my daughter’s school was shutting down. That day, she got her ears pierced because we didn’t know what would come next. My son’s…

Flash fiction

The vestiges of winter had already been shed and the spring crept up slowly behind it, ebbing and flowing with the rise and fall in temperature. I was alone still. This home was shut away from everyone the way I preferred it. Me, plants, hot coffee, warm bread, and the sounds of a wakening earth.

Photo by Tamirlan Maratov on Unsplash

The mailbox was empty again and I could not decide how much connection I craved, whether a handshake, a kiss, or spit in my face. I had convinced myself that the being alone was healing, that if I just spent enough time with myself, settling…

Chevanne Scordinsky

Writer | Leader | Healthcare professional | Advocate | World-builder

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