I write because I have to keep talking to you. Because I want to meet you again - out of time, out of memory.I want to be surprised by you again, to be drawn into your story.I want to be curious about you again.I want to hear you, and feel heard.I want to unravel you, … Continue reading I write so that we can meet again
The interminable humorist and philosopher, Douglas Adams, once said: “For us, there is no longer a fundamental mystery about Life. It is all the process of extraordinary eruptions of information, and it is information which gives us this fantastically rich, complex world in which we live.” Have we lost mystery? Is there a difference between … Continue reading Extraordinary Eruptions of Information
I'm not writing to fix myself, I'm writing to fuck myself up.
Listening to Gabino Iglesias talk about how yes, writing is hard, and you need to want to be a writer more than you want anything else. The heart of his talk? Do the work, don't give up. Ignore all the reasons why you can't. Find time to do it - on a break, on the … Continue reading Writing is hard.
I really am good at going silent. I think of things constantly that I could bring here, write about, poeticize, eulogize. But I don't, because here's the thing - I wrote a book. More specifically, I wrote a book while living with an incurable chronic illness that's slowly eroding away at my energy level. (I … Continue reading I made a thing.
One of the things that's been joyously freeing about my writing program is that we're given permission to do something important: Write badly. In order to create a sculpture, you have to start with a big block of clay, or a stone, or a chunk of wood. At first, you're just hacking pieces away and … Continue reading Write badly
In my writing class, there's a certain format to things. We read a bit of this, then reflect. Read another passage, discuss. A literary liturgy of sorts. There's something about this class that reminds me of Catholic masses, only without the standing and kneeling. (Though, I would say, our literary docent probably wouldn't mind if … Continue reading Literary mea culpas, literary prayers
Sunny mornings, thundery afternoons. That's been the weather pattern lately, meaning the days start bright, but become gray by afternoon, making it seem later than it really is. This weather has me thinking about things like light and dark. Recently someone said to me, "I can see you writing some dark stuff." They didn't mean … Continue reading Writer of the moonlight
I had a day off, and spent it drafting an outline. I've never been one who was able to write to an outline. My stories like to go off on little weekend retreats without telling me then come back and start ordering me around with the pride and swagger of a newly hatched adolescent. Mostly … Continue reading Outline this.
I went to the Botanical gardens a few weeks ago. Mainly I was there to get some work done, and the gardens are a nice place to read or write. But I remembered, while I was there, an assignment that a teacher once had us to called Word Gardens. Word Gardens, the way I remember … Continue reading Word Gardens