The Writer's Life as Creative Survival
I’m working on my wonder. It needs a bit of a tune-up. My wonder has gone wonky, as it were. The bad things, the overwhelming and seemingly hopeless, tend to take wonder and throw it in the dryer on hot until it shrinks up and forever thereafter fails to cover the proverbial muffin top of … Continue reading On wonder
The immediacy intrinsic to this our current version of life makes me feel as though I’m forever engaged in an epic battle against time. That’s fancy talk for: I spend most of my time feeling like the embodiment of an actual living, breathing Day-Late-and-a-Dollar-Short. I imagine myself as a Carnivale-esque side show has-been, the one … Continue reading Found: Some (spring) time
A therapist once told me that I have an over-inflated sense of justice. It lingers as one of the more jarring lessons in stripped-down candor that have slapped me into self-reflection. I was aghast and filled with that particular sort of indignation that runs on embarrassment and shame. It felt wrong, but I was young, … Continue reading How do you solve a problem like an over-inflated sense of justice?
There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
I used to watch my writing languish. Literally. Like some lazy do-no-good or a comatose soap opera actor waiting for a brain transplant. My ex, would offer to read something I’d poured myself into, hours of pen and paper, computer screen, and back to pen and paper, the cycle of writing and revising spinning until … Continue reading Write to live (or, how not to die)
“Have you thought about your legacy?” She asked. I felt hot under the glow of her radiating anticipation. It was Sunday afternoon, and I considered it a feat that I’d managed to leave my house, much less ruminate on the inner workings of what I intended to leave behind for future generations of humanity. “Not … Continue reading Women of legacy
When I was voted most likely to become an author (at age 10), I had a pretty clear picture in my mind of what that fabulous becoming would look like. Or, at least I could clearly picture myself on the back cover of a book, my book, I could see it in the library, a … Continue reading You should write a book about that
I began this blog with a quote as a placeholder while I pulled my shit together, or while my shit pulled other things together, maybe both. And because the “No new post” reminder felt a little judgemental every time it looked at me as I admired the other handiwork I’d done. I began this blog … Continue reading In the telling