I'm an associate member of the SFWA. Some things I've written:
May returns to her familiar place to grieve, a moment she once spent on a sunny hillside, flat on her back with her face to the sky, fingers twisted in the grass like she might soon be flung off this spinning planet.
I lift my palms. “I’m color blind, so prose is never purple to me.”
Behind the distortion, perhaps she was sympathetic, perhaps condescending. The poor connection made anything possible.
Also available in an anthology here.
“Take the drawers out first, at least! That’s eighty-year-old mahogany, not IKEA.”