Follow these links for all things writing from me beyond fiction and poetry.

Updated 07/17/2021

I don’t write as much non-fiction as I do fiction and poetry (funny, really, since the creative writing class I took a few years back focused almost entirely on creative non-fiction), but there are times when I need to open a vein of my own and let it bleed.

I doubt these articles and pieces will be that dramatic, though you never can tell with this writing gig. Still, what I learned most about non-fiction is that there is a “wound” for every idea, to…

Here’s a list of all the poetry I have contributed to Medium (thus far).

Updated 07/27/2021

While I’m not a master of the artistry required for poetry, I still try my hand at the form from time to time. Most of my pieces are free-verse, but I have dabbled in sonnets and some other poems with a specific rhyme scheme.

Listed below are all poems I’ve compiled on Medium thus far. I’d be so thrilled if you gave one or two a gander!

Thank you for your time and support!

Love Poems

I’ll Tell You Again Tomorrow

Don’t Mess With My Glow

Here are some handy links for all my current Medium fiction.

Updated 07/30/2021

I hope this little guide (which I will update as needed) will be a gateway for you to discover my fiction writing in all its many shades.

Thanks for your interest and support!

Contemporary Fiction

The Last Carnival of the Summer

Back When I Was Her Guy

We’re Falling By the Wayside Fast

The Invisible Woman

Back to the Days When You Still Loved Me

You Don’t Know Kady Wilson Like I Do

Every Day at Six o’Clock

Saltwater Kisses

Hearts on the Line

The Last Ferry Home


No, I’m not a cat (I promise).

Hello, fellow Medium writers! Excuse the mess. No matter when this is posted, I will probably still be gaining my legs when it comes to this platform. I hope you enjoy your time here in my little corner of Medium, where you can expect fiction of all kinds from all walks of genre and even length (if I get bold and crafty).

What can you expect from me over here? I write a lot of weird things. Whether it’s whimsical science fiction or turbulent dystopias or even quirky rom-coms — I dabble in…

By summer, I held your hand in mine

I once thought you were heaven-sent, like something out of a legend — anything that might shake the grounds of the reality I had known for so many years. You were an angel with wings ablaze, all the more ready to change the foundation and steadiness that had allowed me to coast through life until that moment.

Your smile was shy, but those eyes of yours told a different story. Sometimes their blue-gray was a stormy sea; other times, the color of a winter sky — calmness like a frozen lake —…

You’re that girl who got away…

You don’t know me. In fact, I think your eyes would just drift over me if you happened to be in the same store or restaurant. I could be your cashier or your waiter or even your personal assistant — I don’t think it would matter, your gaze would still fail to land on me and settle. To be noticed by you would be like winning the lottery: improbable yet miraculous.

But I wasn’t someone waiting on you. I was the guy who sat next to you in Professor Bateman’s remedial English course. I…

It was my job, nothing more.

The last time I saw you, the skirt of your dress was torn — tan skin peeking through a jagged rip of scarlet. I didn’t register as you screamed my name, instead closing my eyes and lighting up a cigarette. By the time the car pulled away, I exhaled a plume of smoke into the September night’s air.

It was usually easy to forget the girls, all their faces blending together into a composite, so I didn’t know what made you so special. Coiled black hair, the faint scent of a citrus perfume, lips…

We talked about this, remember?

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say when I see Candace pull up in a yellow Bug with a patched-up back window.

“Your chariot awaits!” she gushes, all smiles. I still can’t get over the fact that she drove here without being able to see clearly through the clouded cellophane tape. Better than duck tape, I guess.

“Nope, nope, nope,” I say as I start moving away from the mustard-colored death trap. If she had pulled up in a bullet hole-ridden party bus, maybe I would have taken the chance, but a Bug? No…


a snapshot or two does little to tell just how much

we may ache inside as heartbreaks pile up and up.

we could have been forever, maybe, if that word

even exists anymore for anyone present in the room.

the pictures may show a thousand lives, each second

kept for posterity, another thing to file away to forget.

but there is hope beyond tomorrow, a fracture to heal,

even when the cracks shine through with hollow space.

maybe we should have said we weren’t aiming for “forever,”

but just the right amount of time for us in all shades.

Jillian Spiridon

just another writer with too many cats

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