Meredith Harmon
Bio
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.
Achievements (24)
Stories (441)
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PEZ-ure Hunt
Wow, this place is full. Sure, it's still technically summer, but I rather expected most of these kids to be in school already. Mine, on the other hand, go back after Labor Day, so I thought we had a week where we could take a bit of a vacation. And early in the week is supposed to be the quiet time, right?
By Meredith Harmonabout a year ago in Psyche
Kindness Carousel
Sometimes the kindness of strangers makes a difference. It was early in the day, and there were lines of people coming in to park in the lots surrounding Historic Smithville. Most stores were still closed, so we thought we'd take the kids to the carousel first. They're young, and at that perfect age where riding the horses is still magical.
By Meredith Harmonabout a year ago in Psyche
In the Shadow
It was a horrible day, the moment that I realized I would never be allowed in the spotlight. You know his name. I won't name him for copyright reasons. Oh, not that universe, or the other one. And he's been seen in both of those, the multiverses, song verses, whatever. Suffice it to say, you know the name.
By Meredith Harmon2 years ago in Fiction
No Greater Hive of Scum and Villainy. Top Story - August 2024.
She crawled out of the ooze of endless bureaucracy... A week's long stay in the hospital couldn't kill her. The poking, the prodding, the needles, the beeping machines, the tasteless meals, the flapping gown with her nether regions slapping in the wind - they transformed her into something not recognizable. Quack doctors coming in to sneak fees onto her bill for “consultations.” The experimental drugs, the interruptions of sleep cycle... Come on, people, no one needs to be woken up that bleeping early for meds!
By Meredith Harmon2 years ago in Fiction
No Eyes
They say a person cannot use eyes to create a story. That hurts, people! Folx need to know that those organs are the paramount sense, closest and dearest to our hearts and powers of reason. One cannot feel the deep melancholy of the northern aurora, or the torment of the deepest sunset. Or read a story, as Yours Truly types madly.
By Meredith Harmon2 years ago in Fiction
