Blog
Maybe blogging isn’t dead. At least, not yet.
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This December has been one of the coldest of my life. I’ve been in Utah for 14 years, but as Utah has been in a drought for just as long. My first winter in the Rockies was filled with ice and snow, but each consecutive year the snow came later and later. Many years we
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I have never been a fan of the cold. Growing up in Southeast Texas, cold wasn’t something I encountered very often. The few occasions when the thermometer dropped below freezing were rare and therefore exciting. The fantasy of building snowmen or having a “white Christmas” were just that, fantasies. Until I moved to Utah and
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Sometimes, out of no where, I want to cry. Not because I’m sad or because anything is wrong. Not because I’m so happy that I’m overcome, but just because it feels like something is building up inside and needs to be released. In those moments, which occur in calm moments, the tears don’t come. Though
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I saw a post on pintrest the other day that talked living for the future. The post was copied from Twitter and read: “I feel like I’m constantly worrying about the next part of my life without realizing that I’m right in the middle of what I used to look forward to.” It’s been making
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We had snow last week, a sure sign that November is closing in. As November approaches, so too does the yearly writing challenge known as NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. Year autumn writers from around the country attempt to writing a full 50,000 novel in just 30 days. Every year, I attempt some sort
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There’s so many thoughts I cannot put into words. Sometimes the struggle is in finding an original way to express thoughts already spoken: the happiness of a bright sunflower in the summer, the melancholy of toy in the rain, the butterflies in the stomach and heart in your throat for nerves. We know what to
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I’m a connoisseur of coffee shops. I’ve issues myself a challenge to write at a new coffee shop every week until I’ve tried every single cafe in the valley. If I attempted this challenge 10 years ago, I would be done in a month. But, Coffee has become surprisingly popular in this Mormon stronghold. Now,
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I remember my past like scenes in a movie. As if it all happened to someone else, in a different reality, separate from the one I currently reside in. I say “I” and “me” when recounting the sordid tales, but feels like a lie. Despite all evidence and witnesses that confirm their truth, I cannot
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In many ways, writing still feels like a need that’s intrinsic to my nature. But, external forces have been removed. Writing is no longer a forced activity rubrics and due dates, but a chosen form of expression.
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We need Quiet Time. As a society, we hate silence. We play music in the background of coffee shops and grocery stores. We fill “awkward silences” with small talk and mindless chatter. We even go so far as to say that quiet people “have no personality”, or regard them with suspicion because “it’s always the
Bringing Mae Flowers 