Another graveyard post. "On this fragile October night, when even the gold of the fallen leaves had skuttled into the shadows, there appears a lone wisp of a figure. Her top half was a little too heavy, and her bottom too thin. But it was her hair which was the color of eternity that she … Continue reading Measure the strands of woolen hair
A quote that made it out of the graveyard of stories that will never be written: “He pointed the gun at me, and then everything all went into a blur. I would tell you what happened next, but I don’t think you would believe the truth since it’s going to come out of a dead … Continue reading Dollar sign pile-of-shit
I have terrible headaches. I have had them since I was a kid, and I've always thought that there was something wrong with me. I think I was around 12 when I diagnosed myself with having an ischemic stroke, and I was absolutely and terrifyingly wrong. Absolutely, because there was no way that could have … Continue reading Headaches and why I can’t live without them
A companion piece to: Lady Ostentatious "Scotch, and make it scorching" The bartender peered across the haze of smoke and sweaty heat waves to recognize whatever it was that sat before him, and it was most definitely not a man. "Lady!" he laughed as if it was all a great big joke. "As the only sober … Continue reading Scotch and make it scorching: rewrite 10.10.2017
Dear October the eighth, I haven't been writing for very long. Just two and a half years to be exact, and I can mark the anniversary of my very first story right here on this blog. To be transparent, I never was that kid who held a pen in her hands and declared the universe … Continue reading Why I write. an update.
And Starr and Oliver stood together at the very edge of the entire universe hand in hand. Looking down, there was so much to see. So much loneliness, so much joy, so much loss, and so much strength. There was so much color where there was emptiness and so much emptiness in the places teeming … Continue reading When one goes exploring the universe with one’s best friend and they happen upon its edge.
The thing about being a writer is that one day you'll look down and find that you've built a dinky little house right in the middle your chest. It's got all the nice white planks that neatly line up, a fireplace, even a dog. It's also got the ugly holes from when you didn't really … Continue reading Pleasant musings on the domesticity of writing