Examples from the Sentence Collections of Past Hillside Writers:


Individual experiences:

Had I realized the possibility of a turkey deciding to escape the pen, I might have shut the door.

One late spring evening, as the sun was setting, he threw the baseball, a perfect arc, right into my faux-leather, well-loved glove for the last time.

I took the forceps in my hand and carefully inserted the needle through the banana skin.


Forget diamonds — hot glue and metal wire are a girl's best friend.

There is a moment that comes between aiming the pistol and pulling the trigger; in that split second, I can sense the accuracy of the bullet.

The bloodstained, disc-shaped shavings of the tibia looked soft and spongy, sitting in that little dish on the sterilized table in the chilled room.


As we sat in Nora's blue pickup, the words fell out of her mouth: "Women are too emotional to be leaders—we care too much."

The young woman in a demanding red dress and sleek black stilettos lifted her leg onto the counter and uttered two small but significant words: “Bed bugs.”

As the conference room emptied, I opened the note and read: Thank you for saying the words that I couldn't.


It all started with a pack of flashcards — one hundred two-by-eight-inch glossy cards bound at one end by a single plastic grommet.

The space here was the key: the space of the darkness in my room, the space between the drum notes, the space that I could create between my textbooks and me.

And then one day everything changes: you show up, a coffee in one hand and the script you’ve been frantically studying in the other, and find that someone has built a world on the stage — the steps of the Casa Rosada or New York apartment buildings have suddenly materialized.