writing
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I started working on my novel again. It’s a project that I pick-up and put down so often that I can’t even remember when I first started. Inspiration comes in waves, and it’s easier to find excuses than it is to find motivation. So, year after year, I tell myself that I’ll finish the first
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Butcher Language.Chop your prose with punctuation.Splice your sentences to fit your thoughts. Shape language.Twist your words to craft new meanings.Bend the rules of grammar to your will. Steal language.Ravage dictionaries for inspiration.Wield each syllable as a tool for creation. Language is meant to be used.
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Writing for work was sapping my confidence and creativity. I work in the travel industry, and genuinely enjoy my job. I get to work with innkeepers and campgrounds from all around the country (and Canada), and learn about the hidden gems in cities and towns of all sizes. In many ways, it’s a dream job.
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I submitted a children’s story for publication. It’s the first attempt I’ve made at publication in years. Like many writers, fear of rejection and impostor syndrome has kept me from making progress towards any writing goal. I was writing more than ever for work, and that left me feeling burnt out and uninspired. My writing
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I’ve become a political poet. If the last few months have been good for anything, it’s inspiration. I’ve been spitting out poems about current events on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis. While most of those rough drafts don’t see the light of day, I deemed several decent enough to share on TikTok and this blog.
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I’m thinking about moving my writing over to Medium. I’ve been writing on WordPress since 2017 and I’ve enjoyed growing my little community, but I feel like I’m not reaching the audience I was before. Part of this is due to the decline of blogging as an art form in general, but I can’t help
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When she first say him, he was sleeping under and ancient pine tree. Intrigued by his silver fur and powerful form she ached to move closer, to become a part of him. Enveloping him in an armless embrace, he felt nothing but the caresses of a strong breeze. His eyes opened, golden and alert
Bringing Mae Flowers 