The Writer's Life as Creative Survival
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?
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