Writing Blog
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Part 4: Here I paced my small chamber until I grew dizzy from making sharp turns in a small place. I sat I on my narrow straw mattress, with my head in my hands, and my elbows on knees that bounced with trapped energy. Tonight would be the final act of our ill-planed play. Whether
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As children Prince James and I played in the courtyard together. We were unlikely friends, the second born son of a king and the only son of the castle sorceress, but we spent every day together since we were scarcely out of the nursery. He, as a second son, had few royal responsibilities, and I
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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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It’s official: I am getting published! A small, non-profit, all-volunteer, fantasy magazine in the United Kingdom is publishing one of my short stories. The magazine is called Noctivagant Press, you can check out their website here: https://www.noctivagantpress.co.uk/. The piece I submitted is called “Lass From the Low Country”. It is a tragic tale of love
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I was never a good poet. My brain seems hardwired for prose. I can write a beautiful sentence full of metaphor and irony, but any attempt to craft that into something short ultimately results in something cliche and insincere. Still, despite my shortcomings, I never stopped trying to write poems. I still enjoy the genre
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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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It’s that time of year again. The time of year that all your writing friends annoy you with details about the novel they will write throughout the month of November. They may have spend all of October (aka Prep-tober) going over their writing schedule and outline, creating a calendar, and signing up for all sorts
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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 am the writer who doesn’t write. In college I told myself I didn’t have the time, and the excuse seemed valid at the time. Between full time employment, full-time classes, homework, and commutes- I barely had time to breathe. My writing suffered, but I scribbled when I could and dreamed of graduation. I told
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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 