Category: On Writing

On a Serious Note

  I’ve been depressed for a while. What month is it? Midway through March? Yes, a while. I couldn’t figure out why. I slipped into a funk sometime after the holidays. I couldn’t put my finger on what’s been at the root of bumming me out so much. […]

Why I Write Fiction

Sometime last winter, I posted on a temporary page that I had going on that I was going to write this particular thing, and then I was going to write that thing, and then I was going to write this other thing. Then I looked at it and […]

An Unraveled Hem, Joan Didion

I’ve kept some kind of a notebook, or journal, since junior high. Thankfully, the majority of them have gone the way of the wind. I suppose that’s a nice way of saying that I destroyed them at one time or another. I recall erasing every word one January, […]

Proofs, Poems, Healing, and Hope

Up early this morning, though I don’t generally make it a habit to discuss my habits. There was, however, a great write up recently about how author Megan Abbott spends her Sundays.( You can read that here. ) What I loved about this piece is that as a […]

Quotes from Joan Didion.

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live. To see enough and write it down, I tell myself, and then some day when I am only going through the motions and doing what I am supposed to do which is write, on that bankrupt morning I will simply […]

Muse.

To speak of The Muse is to speak of The Ethereal, The Inspired. The walls shook with the sound of cascading thunder, the windows vibrating in their frames. In a burst of light, the panes became liquid beneath my finger tips, I watched the circles fan away from […]

Gatsby.

(Spoilers throughout, though most of you know this story.) GATSBY. Gatsby? Gatsby. I’ve stayed away from the subject of Gatsby for some years because I simply couldn’t deal with it. Gatsby made me infinitely angry at F. Scott Fitzgerald. A romantic at heart, (what I used to call […]

Love Letters.

  The wanting of words let loose, wrapped around and back again, trailing into one another, not poetry but poetically realistic, to say, my toes are cold, I want to wear your socks, lay down next to you, feel your palm cool against this fever. Agony, wanting to […]

Latitude.

In the literary world, in terms of public opinion with regard to the writer, it has long at least seemed the case that a man is allowed to write about whatever he wishes to write about and if the writing itself is good or bad he is then […]