by Diana Diehl | May 31, 2017 | Short Stories
Raw. Red. I hold up my hands in front of my face. Didn’t think to bring gloves. Who would need them on a tropical vacation? My fingers look like rare steak. What I wouldn’t give for a sizzling rib-eye straight off the grill right now. And mashed potatoes...
by Diana Diehl | Apr 23, 2015 | The Making of Misho of the Mountain
Sunbeams break through the clouds. Rainbows paint themselves across the sky. Trumpets split the silence with their clarion call. A flock of doves explode into the air. What do other authors feel when they place that last period? How do mathematicians feel when that...