writing
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New Year’s Eve is a magical time. It’s the one night of the year where people who are normally careful, rational, and fully aware of consequences collectively decide:“Tonight? Tonight, the rules are different.” They are not. As a personal injury lawyer, I can tell you that New Year’s Eve is less champagne and confetti and more emergency rooms
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The box of ornaments comes down from the attic with the energy of an aging prizefighter. It knows this is its one bout of the year. It knows you will open it no matter how much dust has accumulated. It knows you will whisper a small prayer that nothing inside has shattered, even though you
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A Field Guide for the Recently Injured (and the Perpetually Unlucky) There’s a certain poetry to disaster.One minute you’re cruising down U.S. 19, the next you’re an accidental performance artist in a symphony of airbags and bad decisions. Time slows. Metal folds. Your playlist doesn’t. And before the smoke clears, your phone’s already buzzing –
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(How to Lose Yourself Just Enough to Find the Truth) The courtroom is a stage that denies it’s a stage.The script insists it’s nonfiction.The actors swear under oath. But make no mistake: the trial is theatre – sacred, structured, and dangerous. The bailiff calls “All rise,” and we do, obediently, as though waiting for the
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This production of Waiting for Godot arrived at a moment of personal resonance for me. It is one of my favorite plays. I often write in the absurdist tradition (my piece Funeral of god springs from that same space of uncertainty and strange humor) so I came with both affection and expectation. What I found was a
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This short story was the First Place Winner in the “Historic Fiction” group of the NYCMidnight Writing challenge. Limited to only 500 words, the judges had this to say about the piece: “It uses the motif of music expertly” “The writing is beautiful, vivid and poetic, with a sharpness.” “I found the twist to be
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Auditions: strangers.Closing night: siblings.Strike: bitter custody battle where no one gets the good prop sword. That’s the cycle. Every show. Every time. The judge rules: Act I: The Rehearsal Cult You don’t join a cast. You’re abducted.Script in hand.Eyes wide.Someone already humming warm-ups like a Gregorian monk who overdosed on LaCroix. Day One: Hi, nice to
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Burnout doesn’t knock politely. It crash-lands in your inbox like a flaming email chain where everyone is still hitting “Reply All.” And if you’re a lawyer, entrepreneur, or philanthropist (or worse – some mutant cocktail of all three like me), burnout isn’t a risk, it’s practically a job perk. We spend our days juggling statutes,
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Forget Zillow. Forget Redfin. Forget that guy on TikTok who screams about cap rates while standing in an unfinished kitchen. If you want to understand real estate — truly understand it — you need to look no further than Barbie’s Malibu Dreamhouse. A shrine in pink plastic. A mortgage-free monument to the lie we all keep
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You bring your biases, I’ll bring mine, and maybe – just maybe – we’ll make a verdict. Jury duty is the last place in America where people from every conceivable corner of the human condition are forced into a single, climate-controlled room with fluorescent lighting and the vague promise of justice. It’s not just a
Brian Brijbag 