Tiffany McCreight is a master at many writing styles, including traditional journalism, opinion, fiction,(sci-fi, mystery, comedy, historical, and romance) non-fiction and biography, to name a few. In addition to her expertise in the aforementioned, Tiffany is a skilled ghostwriter and a master storyteller. Her unique gift for turning a story has her in demand as a content editor. Tiffany graduated with her Masters Of Fine Arts, Writing, from Lindenwood University in 2016. Tiffany’s travels, and general life experiences, coupled with her education, both in and out of school, make her a perfect candidate for any of your writing needs!

GENERATION X: THE LOST ONES

If you grew up watching after school specials, listening to McGruff the Crime dog telling you to beware of strangers, had Hanging Tough, Candy Girl, or Smells like Teen Spirit blasting through your cassette player. (I owned a Care Bears player that didn’t have a happy ending)If you can remember the beginning of ‘gangster rap’ and the transition from school computers being housed in ‘labs’ to every classroom having at least two computer stations of their own, then you are a Gen Xer. Read more here

Online Dating Sucks! Part One

As she got closer to the wine bar, she could see her reflection. Pretending to be on the phone, she stopped to check out her profile. Red hair, the color of sun-dried brick, was cut in a small neat fro. Her sharp features softened by the freckles sprinkled on her face. She was average height a bit on the chubby side; she could never drop that last twenty pounds that kept her shopping on the plus side of the aisle. Men thought Ahniya either beautiful or ugly. Like most women, she rotated between the two but mostly lived somewhere in the middle when she considered her appearance. As she headed for the door, she took one last glance at her reflection before entering the bar. Read more here

Star-Babies

Two sharply dressed twelve-year-old boys carried the white willow coffin from the gleaming black hearse the few feet to the burial site. They sat the coffin down gently, following the quiet instructions of the funeral home director. The innocent's final resting place was filled with mourners wearing pale pink—at the mother's request. Her model frame stood out in an all-black suit. The only color on her besides her jet black hair and blue-green eyes was the faint stain of her cheeks and lips that matched the pale pink handkerchief in the suit's lapel.

After the service, she turned to hug him but was interrupted mid-motion by the sound of clanking metal. They both looked down at the handcuffs-an intrusion that stopped a much-needed embrace. He looked at her with mournful brown eyes from a pale face that still had remnants of his rugged handsomeness. Stifling a moan, she was hoping to feel his reassuring embrace one last time. That embrace that would temporarily take her out of this hell she was living. But as the deputies escorted him back to their van, she knew that this hell had no end in sight…her baby was dead, and her husband is on trial for her murder. Read more here!

Check out my monthly podcast- Chasm: Dichotomy of Being! I explore the intersections of Christianity, Race, Religion, and living this LA life as a Gen-X writer. Available on all platforms including Apple Podcasts, Spotify, and Google Play! Listen here!