Write! with Peter Hering

Our marriage began and ended with me calling 911: the first time I was trying to save myself, the second time I was trying to save him. But neither of us ever tried saving our marriage; at some point we realized that novelists and accountants just didn’t mix.

Excerpt from: ‘Marriage: Just dial 911 and hope for the best!’
Stefanie S. Hope

My ex-husband used to complain: ‘Stefanie, every morning you look like you just spent the night doing something incredibly stupid, illegal, or both. Could you at least make it a habit of showering before 11 a.m.?’ OK, so I never was a morning person; and before anyone else even thinks about asking: I never will be one either.
‘Dear,’ I most often answered. ‘I walk like a writer, I drink like a writer, and I fuck like a writer. Get over it.’
For a few weeks anyway, that just about summed up the extent of our weekend dialogue.

Excerpt from: ‘Marriage: Just dial 911 and hope for the best!’
Stefanie S. Hope

Shadows cannot brace me
from the light of deception.
Pleasure cannot save me
from a moment of conception.

Analysis
That’s my multicolored linguistic input to the mezzanine orgy.
Faith? Keep it.

For good care, look inside. For better care, look deeper inside.

I’d been through an astrologist, a therapist, a psychologist, and a soul asylum. And that all happened while I was still married.

Excerpt from: ‘Marriage: Just dial 911 and hope for the best!’
Stefanie S. Hope