What I love about writing--- You can let yourself slip into any setting--- any story. You can close your eyes on a summer day and transport yourself to a platinum-colored winter night where the velvet dark huddles beneath the fir trees. You can slip from the fog and rain of the northeast to the cicada-filled, … Continue reading Good Writing, Hard Discipline
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The Start of Something, Perhaps…?
It was a new house and yet an old house. It sat at the end of a dead end street beneath the spreading branches of an orange maple tree. It had a deep back yard that would be dappled with sunshine in the summer, four stories--- if one counted the basement and the finished attic--- … Continue reading The Start of Something, Perhaps…?
Drop That Bar
Lower your standards. I mean it. Lower your standards. What’s wrong with being a hard-working, obscure writer? There are a lot of hard-working writers who have amazing bodies of work and hold their heads high every day. What makes you need to be the great American novelist… or nothing else? Here’s the problem with you. … Continue reading Drop That Bar
I’m Back
I feel ready to spread my wings--- stretch my muscles... You know, all the cliches. The problem is: I know writing shouldn't be just a muscle that I stretch, but rather it should be one I condition. I've spent my life punching clocks for a paycheck, doing work I don't even enjoy. It's time to … Continue reading I’m Back
The Note on the Counter
He left the note sitting on the island counter top where, by the time she woke up, it had gathered a small pool of sunlight to itself from the window above the sink. The sight of it took her breath away in a sickening whoosh when she stumbled from her bedroom. Dear Cass, it read, … Continue reading The Note on the Counter
Cold Kindness
Mateson stands at the gas pump debating. The early morning cold is enough to tingle the mucus in his nose as it freezes. When he left his house this morning, he had only enough money to fill his gas tank and perhaps buy lunch. The gas tank would get him to work for the rest … Continue reading Cold Kindness
The First Rule of Writers
Luther stands in the tiny entryway of his apartment and pats down his pockets to make sure he has his keys. Behind him, the last rosy glow of sunset slips off his window ledge. He’s going to be late. He snatches up the bulky portfolio that holds his life’s work— all the scribbles and scratches, … Continue reading The First Rule of Writers
They Break so Easily
I keep expecting things to shatter. I pick up my French press, the dishwater drips, suds slip down its sides. I think: the noise this thing will make if I drop it… I can almost feel the shards bounce around my toes, crystal and sharp, winking in the light. I can hear the smash, the … Continue reading They Break so Easily
Impostor Syndrome
I sit at my computer biting my nails. It's a bad habit I fall into when I'm highly anxious. I scroll through the screen reading submission guidelines and articles in Literary Journals and magazines. What is it about reading other people's work that makes one feel inadequate? I stare at the glossy photos of the … Continue reading Impostor Syndrome
The Gaffer
The gaffer blows his glass with ease and elegance. He stands before the red-hot furnace and dips his blowpipe into the molten sand. He swings the pipe up and out. He is nimble on his feet, balanced in his shoulders. He walks toward the block, swinging the pipe end over end. His intent face is … Continue reading The Gaffer
Seeking Prose 