C. A. Winter Blog

 Consciousness  Did I spell that right?  In the mornings I like to do a bit of writing. Some kind of vomit from the night before that doesn't get out of my system until the fingers hit the keyboard. Type R in the search and hit enter. Reddit. Scroll that, then pop open my MS Word. Read the shite I wrote last night and start again. I didn't do that this morning but I should've. Often I begin with a breakdown of the dreams from the night before. Last night was cat-central. Dreams and dreams and dreams of cats. Why cats? In my dream I had three cats. A glowing white one, a fluffy light grey one, and a tabby grey cat. At some point, the tabby grey broke its leg by jumping funny. I didn't notice the cat was in pain until someone pointed it out.  "Look, he's limping. Watch him jump." Sure enough, he was walking with a broken leg. The cat was given to me for free in my dream, and I didn't really want the cat to begin with, but I took it in anyways. When I rea...

 I find myself locked into a correspondence for hours, crafting eloquent sentences and well-timed jokes. I find myself writing 1,500 words in an email. I find myself blogging. I find myself unwilling to write a novel. I find myself playing videogames. I've found myself in the bathroom on Instagram. My fiance has found me there as well. I'm finding myself to be a bit of a lazy son of a bitch. I'm finding out that whatever this is is something that needs to be addressed. I will find out soon enough that this is a serious problem. I've been finding more and more of myself in my blog. Finding out I am who I write about is terrifying. I am the subject of the hate. I must find a solution before the problem finds me. I must search for meaning. it must be found. 

There’s a man over. He’s got blonde hair and a dark jacket. Some kind of hat. Sports, maybe. It’s blue. I imagine it to be a Cubs hat but that’s my bias. If it were black, it would be Sox. Red for Blackhawks. I suppose if it’s dark blue it could be the Bears. I squint. Don’t see any orange.  He put his keys on the dresser and is taking his jacket off. Thin ankles for arms. Disappointing. Baggy tee underneath. Unlabelled, unwashed. She comes into view. Hand on his chest. They’re kissing, she’s groping his butt. Her shirt comes off first, then his. Double D’s, surely. Skin colour bra, leggings, birthmark brown and jarring on her collarbone. I forgot it was there. If I had a body like hers I would have it removed.  They disappear and a white sock flies across the room. Lands next to his keys. Very TV of them. I turn the faucet off and wipe my hands on the towel. There’s a sliver of raw onion on the floor next to the stove. Feel it on my foot, bending, pick it up. Looking out the ...

Unworried  A short story by C. A. Winter     Thank   you  for taking the time to read Unworried. This is a short story which I wrote over the Christmas holidays over four sessions. This is the  2 nd  edition , which is the edited version of the story. I have submitted this to a few magazines in an attempt to get published. I’d like a few more eyes on it before I submit to more magazines for competitions. Any feedback is very much welcome . If you’d like to sit down and discuss the story in person, I’d love to meet up. Otherwise, an email, text message, or a cease-and-desist letter are all sufficient.   Enjoy,   C. A. Winter           //       He pushed me and I fell down the ramp. It took me a full five minutes to realize my leg was broken. I couldn’t process I’d even hit the ground. My hands were sweaty, like really sweaty, and something didn’t feel right when I stood up. The way my friends were acting...