I am blessed to have people who believe in me, even (and especially) when I don't believe in myself. Like the ones who scrawled my work-in-progress in the sand while they were vacationing. We thought of you, it said. We love you, it said. I now understand why writers make such a big deal about …
Continue reading Writing: The Reach that Doesn’t Sleep or Die
Some bloggers reel me in—usually with a strong literary voice and brutal honesty. I'm a sucker for poetic confession. We all struggle inside ourselves, and I appreciate a writer who can fly that flag and call it fiction or essay or Dear Diary... MrHushHush is one such blogger, so when I saw he was looking for …
Some people can't think of anything to write. I don't have that problem. I can always, ALWAYS throw some words down on a page. Probably a result of hours spent freewriting with my students, if you put on a timer and tell me to write, I'll fill pages and pages of stream-of-consciousness. Some people start …
Anne Lamott calls it her broccoli. Stephen King calls it his beast. My beast was asleep. I tried prodding him, kicking him, calling him bad names. No roars. No lightning bolts of creativity. Just me, slapping words on a page with the precision of a toddler, becoming more and more certain I was wasting my …
Once this kid—my passenger—grabbed the steering wheel and jerked it hard over while I was driving. Not just a little tug, mind you, but a full-on we-gonna-die! yank. The kind that elicited a blood-curdling scream and a shouted sermon. A 19-year old preaching car safety to a 15-year-old. This kid was all charm and immortality …
via What it feels like to write a book #writing #writerslife #amwriting
Yesterday I had two writing gigs. TWO! The first one was in a library where the security guards pack heat, and there are two of them patrolling the aisles. It's a library where you get buzzed into the restroom and there find lurking an odor more corrupt than King Tut's tomb or my son's gym …
2017. Crushed it. Really and truly. Those of you who know me know I beat myself up at regular intervals. I raise self-flagellation to an art form. My friends tell me I'm too hard on myself. If there is no enemy within, the enemy outside can do me no harm. I like to think I have an …
I credit several people with my tattoo. First Katae, who made the whole thing happen and gave me a forever birthday gift. Next my husband, who puts up with this manifestation of a midlife crisis. My daughter Tory, whose trip to the parlor (do they call it that anymore?) got us talking about matching tattoos. …
What I find most interesting about this perspective is that atheists ought to be in hearty agreement with it. I wonder, do atheists generally embrace Santa? The last line of this post is a zinger with which I agree entirely. Why do we do that? I’m truly sorry your parents let it go on this …
KL Griffiths 