Articles written by Christine Stoddard

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About me - Christine Stoddard

Christine Stoddard is a writer and interdisciplinary artist from Arlington, VA, right outside of Washington, D.C. In addition to writing poetry, fiction, creative non-fiction, journalistic and academic pieces, screen/stage plays, Christine also writes and

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Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Tall tales: 1 of 47

QUAIL BELL Fantomina could recite the legend of the quail bell since she was nearly small enough to fit into the glorified faerie creation herself. She had learned it from her great-great-great aunt, a shriveled, toothless woman with one eye and a single mauve scarf to cover her bald head. Ever since then, Fantomina guarded ...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: After the funeral: 1 of 12

"The Ghost of Smith Hall" The hall stood black and silent. All of the other girls and boys had retreated to the warmth of their beds for their soothing beauty sleep. They breathed calmly, in and out like normal, with dreams to spice up their young heads. Only one remained awake but only because she could never sleep. Her nam...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Creation: 3 of 34

"Chandra's Case" Chandra sprinted through the woods behind her house with the swiftness of all the sprites she had read about in her storybooks. The tiny spines of blonde hair on her legs shone in the early spring sunlight. She felt enchanted. By what, she knew not, nor did she care. Chandra only knew that the day was beauti...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: College students: 1 of 7

The cathedral overlooks a hobo park, where art students paint and fly kites on humdrum Sunday afternoons. Sometimes lovers set out old-fashioned picnics there, with a wicker basket and red tablecloth. But tonight it is empty, devoid of all the usual associations. I stare at the moon as my sister pushes an archaic microwave i...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Changing: 1 of 6

"Salt" Joanne sank into her green-gray armchair and pulled the daily crossword puzzle into her lap. Surprisingly she hadn't tripped on a plastic tow-truck or a Lego leg on the way there. Joanne had just returned from another eight-hour day of talking to bank customers she secretly hated in the typical 9-to-5 worker's way. Sh...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Fairy tales: 26 of 148

"A Destitute Reflection" Connor scuttled through the crowds of people waiting in line for the film festival as the sun beat too hard overhead. The phony film buffs wore red laminated passes swinging from cheap lanyards. Connor hated that blinding color but, even more so, he hated all the smiling men and women standing outsid...
Creative Writing > Humor Humor: Artists: 1 of 5

How to Be an Artist:No Talent Required It's called radical chic'-being cool by being uncool. Painters and poets alike brandish their filthy fingernails, moth-eaten duds, and cigarette-clad lips the same way Paris Hilton and her Malibu cronies sport Kate Moss bags and Gucci stilettos-with that oh-so-obnoxious "you wish you co...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Haunted places: 7 of 33

"Dreaming in Acrylic" The garage hummed with the sounds of dying light bulbs and stray crickets' songs. A fan spun crookedly in the center of the moldy ceiling, threatening to smash against the artist's workbench if not soon replaced. Selena, a short redhead, flicked her blue-tinged paintbrush in between her fingers. A fleck...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Self-reflection: 11 of 51

"Worms As Mentors" 6:45 in the morning with overcast skies and a balmy breeze in Grinnell, Iowa-a fly-over town in a fly-over state with a world-renowned college of the same name. Mom and Pop stores lined the streets with a popular franchise here and there, staring across from mobile homes and Victorianbeauties alike. It was...
Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Paris: 1 of 3

She swayed like a cat in heat, waist and hips fluid as an arboreal stream. From behind, a trance seemed to grip her with the Sandman's grainy hands; from the front, she suffered the obvious consequences of international airplane travel. Though slightly bloated and discolored, she was as beautiful as the tittering princesses ...