Author: Christopher Winterberg


I dunno, maybe you were planning on building a social-distancing pillow and blanket fort. Maybe you were gonna watch Contagion because, you know, the current global pandemic isn’t scary enough. Or, and this is a hypothetical, you’re set on perfect

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The COVID-19 or as I’m calling it, THE TOILET PAPER SHORTAGE OF 2020

  *looks over shoulder while hugging remaining Charmin rolls. shifty eyes feel someone’s watching* I write this wondering what‘ll happen if there’s a real apocalypse. First, we‘ve come to know how Americans really feel about toilet paper so that’ll disappear

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You Wanna Write?

So… You wanna be a writer? Why? All joking aside, really though, why? Do you really need less sleep? Do you want more stress? Don’t you have enough misery in your life? What, you don’t loath yourself enough already? You

The Flashing

No, not the DC comics character. And NO, I’m not flashing anyone. Ever. Mostly, anyway. Flash Fiction. Not just really short fiction either. Flash fiction IS its own genre. I thought of the regular cliches when writing this: tell, don’t

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The Art Of Ambiguity

Which way does your writing go? I’ve said it before, Don’t be afraid to have an ambiguous ending. Allow the reader to imagine more; get all up in their kitchen and paint a picture in their headspace – and then

Writing IS Hard

I could just leave it at that. One singular sentence to sum up writing. Fits perfectly. Very apropos. But, no. There’s more. Lots more. It’s hard like getting out of bondage. Or a straight jacket. Or an insane asylum. For

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Today I Climb My Everest

I wanted to blog, then I didn’t. And this went round and round until, yeah, blog. I have reasons. Some real, others well… Anyway. Why the long road to blog? Because blogging takes work. It steals from other work. Writing

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Go Write

I was recently told to go write. This is only weird because the words came from a friend. It’s not like I tell people what to do. Well, *laughs* I do if ‘go fuck off’ or ‘go fuck yourself’ counts,

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C’mon! Just The One More.

I told myself I’d stop doing it. Just quit. No more. No mas. Zip. Zilch. Not even one.  But nope.  There I was, doing it again. Sure, I was up early. Had all good intentions. Then… Shit. Just. Happens.  I

The Desolate Road Is A Motherfucker

The writing… Hmmmm. Let’s just say that’s it’s been a desolate road. It twists. There are hairpin turns that’ll rip you apart from the g-forces, shredding flesh from bone. Your hope – to come out unscathed. A miraculous misgiving of nothingness

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