Writing Samples
O' Night Divine
As a {profession} with {years} years of experience, I have worked with a variety of clients across different industries. From startups to Fortune 500 companies, I have helped clients achieve their goals through my expertise and dedication. My portfolio showcases some of my most successful projects, including {project1}, {project2}, and {project3}.
Pearl - A Life On and Off the Half Shell
I am a {profession} with a passion for {interest}. With {years} years of experience in the {industry} industry, I have gained expertise in {skill1}, {skill2}, and {skill3}. In my free time, I enjoy {hobby1}, {hobby2}, and {hobby3}. This website is a platform for me to share my knowledge and experience with others who share my interests and to connect with potential clients and collaborators.
PINK
I am a {profession} with a passion for {interest}. With {years} years of experience in the {industry} industry, I have gained expertise in {skill1}, {skill2}, and {skill3}. In my free time, I enjoy {hobby1}, {hobby2}, and {hobby3}. This website is a platform for me to share my knowledge and experience with others who share my interests and to connect with potential clients and collaborators.
Urshilein – Little She-Bear Ursula
From the historical novel-in-progress Urshilein, a story of war, survival, and inherited memory.
Opening Sequence: The Day the Tanks Came
Gong...
Gong...
Gong...
A steady toll of baritone bells from a distant church drift over the wintry landscape, breaking the morning stillness, marking the top of the hour.
Like a heartbeat throbbing deep within the earth, the sound of hammer striking metal drives these lives— hearts forged in endurance and stoicism. Lives carved out of earth and stone.
Its ancestral presence is the bedrock of steadfast strength. A toughness so deeply engrained in the salt-of-the- earth bloodstream of the Prussian people.
Lives built stone by stone, generation after generation, blood from blood. Precise, reliable and resilient, it awakens the sleepy, frozen city under a heavy gray sky.
Clouds hang heavy and full, like plump feather beds filled and ready to burst with downy snow. A man driving an old wagon gently navigates his draft horse as it creaks and wheezes through the icy streets, tugging a heavy load of household items, bedding and odd bits of furniture. An elderly woman is bundled in blankets bracing herself against a large cage of chickens and ducks as it heaves and sways over the cobblestones.
Thick drifts blanket the rooftops while chimneys puff lazy trails of smoke into the frigid air, signaling a cozy presence of life within, while the River Pissa whispers a steady stream of trickle and fall. Its gentle rush the illusion of quiet and peaceful calm.
A flock of birds soar over the onion domed church with its gleaming golden cross, winking down on the sculpted symbol of the city— the Gumbinnen Elk, standing firm and grounded while sparrows hop, chirp and twitter within its antlers.
Through the kitchen window of a sturdy German home, the profile of a woman moves in rhythmic bursts, busy with morning tasks. From inside, it is a storybook of German ceficiency. A wood stove blazing with its comforting scent of wood fire and drying herbs. A braid of garlic and gleaming pot and pans hang from a long rod suspended from the ceiling. An idyllic picture of German order and stability.
Her mother dressed in a handsewn dress and apron, attends to an infant, smiling and soothing the newborn. She has only given birth a few days before. She glances out the frosted window to the peaceful Sunday scene in Gumbinnen, Oest Preussen.
She calls out to her older daughter,"Urshi? Bring in the
potatoes and the onions from the shed, I'm making soup for us."
Urshi nods obediently and leaves the kitchen through the back garden door.
Her mother turns to cuddle her new infant daughter, smiling adoringly. She tickles her softly as the child looks back with innocent infant eyes.
She glances out the window again. Amused, she sees a few people hurrying by. She smiles and returns to her tasks while adjusting the volume and frequency on a Volksempfänger, or "People's Receiver," a cheap, state-mandated radio used heavily for Nazi propaganda during the war. She settles on an upbeat, patriotic song by Hans Albers.
Outside, Urshi opens the door to the shed but pauses at the sound of commotion beyond the garden wall, a deep, distant growl before continuing. She looks up shielding her eyes from the glare and sees nothing against the gray sky but a single trail of black smoke creeping across the sky overhead.
In the kitchen, her mother reaches for a pot as tinny music drifts from the radio. She returns heaving a basket of vegetables into the kitchen— then stops. Something odd. Music? From outside? And voices— raised, urgent— from outside.
Her mother looks out again: Faces tense, movements wrong, agitated. She pauses: Fear gushing through her bloodstream, her pulse racing. The noise grows louder— closer. In the distance, black smoke rises from a building. Beyond it, advancing exhaust pipes of tanks, billowing guttural clouds of curling black smoke—a line of them, dozens of them. She stands frozen as realization takes hold. Her face drains in fear and disbelief. A shadow of dawning horror darkens her gaze as she whispers, dry throated, “Mein Gott.”
© Karin S. Parks 2025 — from Urshilein, a forthcoming novel.
(Excerpt shared for reading purposes only.)
