writer’s life
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I wet the tip of my pen like dipping toes into the ink black sea. Knowing it would be best to jump in all at once, I wade in line by line, staring at the endless expanse before me. The surface is calm, intimidating in it’s emptiness that hides entire worlds waiting to be released.
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I wish I could write my stories as quickly as I write for work. At my day job, I am known for my ability to research and write 1200 word technical articles in a single day. In addition to my other responsibilities, I keep the company website up to date with educational articles about digital
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“Don’t be a ‘writer’, be writing”. I love and hate Faulkner’s famous advice. I hate it because I know he’s right and I haven’t been writing much lately. Between craziness at work, home life, and my business- I am have almost no energy to be creative. At least, that is the excuse I’ve been making
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For those of you who are somehow unaware, last week was the United States Presidential election. To say that this election cycle was stressful would be an understatement. For many of us, the candidates were uninspiring at best, and the stuff of dystopian nightmares at worst. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, many
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I take the half-filled journal from my bedside; The leather cover is warm in my hands. The broken spine falls open on the table, displaying parchment pages the color of sand. My quill tip pen is newly filled after several month of sparing use. It hovers over the empty pages as I await my writing
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I don’t consider myself a poet. I used to write a lot of sub-par poetry in high school and in the early years of college, but I grew out of the habit. It wasn’t a loss, more of transition. The style of writing most natural to me is prose, so I focused more on that
Bringing Mae Flowers 