Tag: writing inspiration
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Where Words are Born
I want dark frayed linen and mismatched china on the windowsill. Woolen socks drying on the line in early morning, meandering fog and dried nailed lavender above the sink. I want stone hues, silk scarves that always seem to stay put, and the slow drip of a copper faucet. People walking bikes along the path…
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No, Artists Don’t Have a Creative “Sixth-Sense.”
When my daughter was a newborn, I’d wake up in the middle of the night just a few moments before she would. From perfect sleep, my eyes would flicker open to the dark silence of a still room. Then, after a minute or two, my daughter’s little body would sidle back and forth, and she’d…
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The Race of Faithfulness
I’m reading my book. Not as in, my book of the month, one I pulled off the shelf at the charming but over-priced bookstore on Main Street. (Yes, my town has a true-blue Main Street, that is in fact the main street on which to be). I’m reading my book. I’ve finished my novel, you…
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The Moon and Me
She slaps a hard blade of ice white light across my eyes, peeking in from the highest corners of my bedroom windows. “Let me be,” I tell her. “Don’t you know I am old? Of the earliness of babes? How a husband’s lunch won’t pack itself?” “You used to sit with me,” she says. “You used to sit with me and…
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Should Everyone Like Your Work?
“YOU!” The stranger shouted at me from across the room. I was standing in a dark, seedy bar off Magazine Street in New Orleans, with stone floors older than some American cities, the slick grease of a thousand good nights under my stilettos. “Me?” I pointed at myself; my other hand busy keeping my ballgown…
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My Top 5 Books for Any Aspiring Writer
photo credit @1924usWhile the writing world is divided on prefaces, I’m going to start with one. Mostly to say that when it comes to writing, the best thing to do is to write. “How-To” books, in-person seminars, online courses, critique groups, and even brainstorming walks to the ice cream shop all serve as a means…
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To the Gen Zer in Seat 31D
I have never been to Knoxville until now. Or, I should say, 10p.m. last night. Rocketing through the storm soaked atmosphere of Tennessee at 500mph on a 787. The turbulence was batting us around like the little silver balls in the pinball machines of my grandmother’s basement we used to abuse as children. We’d slam…
THE CARTRIDGE 