Rebekah Conard
Bio
33, She/Her, a big bi nerd
How do I write a bio that doesn't look like a dating profile? Anyway, my cat is my daughter, I crochet and cross stitch, and I can't ride a bike. Come take a peek in my brain-space, please and thanks.
Stories (76)
Filter by community
Royal Misfortune. Content Warning.
The banished princess had been living off the land for several weeks, by now. The forest was still testing her, showing little sympathy, but each evening felt less and less like death. Perhaps someday it could feel like home, she mused. Maybe after some time had passed she could venture into civilization in search of an ally. For the moment, she was on her own, and she was doing alright.
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Fiction
When the Robots Took My Job. Top Story - April 2024.
This is for RM Stockton's Write Club prompt for the month of April: AI Please allow me to vent. For "college," I went to a scam school that is now closed. We were promised internships that were never spoken of again after admissions, and we were promised help finding jobs. The first time I went to the career counselor's office, she was completely frazzled. She had no idea what to do with us, the film majors. The second time I visited her office, I let her know that I'd found myself a job, and she was visibly relieved.
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Journal
The One
"The Adventurer awakens on the grass of a forest clearing. Their mind is foggy, but the sky in the immediate area is clear. In most directions, the forest becomes too dark and dense to penetrate after a few yards, but a well-lit path in front of them leads to the North."
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Fiction
My Skin Hurts. Top Story - March 2024. Content Warning.
You know what goes with madness? Mania. I've been having trouble coming up with something to write on the theme of "madness" all month. Up until a few hours ago I was pretty determined to write a fiction piece about having fever. Then, in the afternoon, someone brought up a few mental health conditions that we both experience to some degree.
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Psyche
Places I'm Not
I can see his alarm clock from where I'm sitting. The alarm sounded at 7 a.m. and I already had a feeling this is how it would go down. The bright red digital display has spent the better part of an hour trying to point this doofus my way. The gesture is appreciated, we inanimate objects have to stick together, but he barely pays the clock any attention while it's performing its function. The colon between the hour and the minutes flashes futilely. By now the clock has burned 7:xx into my retinas -- at least it would have, if I had eyes.
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Fiction
A Little Dirt
Photo Credit: Judey Kalchik Every week, I've wanted to ask about the boots, but every week I chickened out. I clean houses. Mr. Peterson hired me a few months ago, after his wife moved into assisted living. He's pretty able-bodied for his age, but his wife insisted he bring someone in to do part of the housework. Mr. Peterson told me she doesn't want him to wear himself out. Experience tells me she doesn't want him to get too lonely.
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Fiction
2024: Officially, the Year of the Unofficial
A little over a year ago, I began writing on Vocal. I had an existing account from the time a former teacher of mine posted a few stories. I didn't give it much thought beyond that. I write, but just sometimes, and usually just for fun, and usually to enter friendly competitions. It was rare for me to share my writing with "IRL" (in-real-life) friends and family. My writing felt private, or at least it wanted to stay private until I knew it was "good enough."
By Rebekah Conard2 years ago in Writers
