Act One is drafted. Outlined. Scribbled. It has gone from random wisps of electrical pulses in my brain goo to lines and dots and marks on my computer (and in the cloud — I’m not crazy enough not to back up). Continue reading Walking Through Jello
I am convinced that the suburbs were not developed so much as unearthed by an unrelenting army of leaf blowers. Continue reading Zero Draft
I hold my breath when I write. I hold my breath through a sentence or a paragraph. I exhale when it’s safely on paper.
I wrote this week. I had thoughts on my writing this week.
A lot of what my book seems to want to be about is finding your voice in dark times.
The events of this past week — shootings and letter bombs and unimaginable sorrows and increasingly dark times for the most vulnerable among us — provide too much real fodder for the work.
There are many feelings now — anger, dismay, fear. These feelings are a constant for some of us, stoked by the occasional (or not-so-occasional) event that for most people are just sad news stories.
I’m just sitting with that today until I exhale.