I’ve been wanting to write to you all for some time now–all of February really and somehow it’s already the 20th. I’ve chosen to let other things take priority–my novel mainly. I just finished a stretch of working on it everyday … Continue reading
At times, making it to the end of this practice seemed impossible. At the beginning, I would stare at my screen for hours, getting more and more anxious. In those early days I had to write the post first thing in the morning … Continue reading
Throughout the year, I’ve resisted thinking about the next day’s post so I wouldn’t scare stuff away. It’s what I have to do when I get really close to something writing fiction–under no circumstance do you think; stop thinking and … Continue reading
Attentiveness is something that, historically, I haven’t been very good at. But it’s something that writing is teaching me and also something that this year has prioritized. Many have attributed the quote below to Mary Oliver, but I’ve looked and looked … Continue reading
It’s the last day of National Poetry Month so I wanted to give you some bits of a Mary Oliver poem I discovered on January 11th of this year, on the plane headed to Provincetown–“The Journey,” which you can find … Continue reading
Wherever I go, I always take at least one book of poetry. This time, I brought three, and since there are still two days remaining in National Poetry Month, I thought I would tell you which books I brought, none … Continue reading
Right off the bat, I should come clean with the fact that I love the slim volumes–there’s something so elegant about them. I read different poets for different reasons. I love Carl Phillips and Mary Oliver, to speak of two extremes. … Continue reading
When I set my mind to something, I go after it–whatever it is–and I seldom take no for an answer. My mother was ecstatic when I got my driver’s license. If we can’t do it this week, —how about next week? How … Continue reading
It’s not that I want to be a rule-follower. I just grew up that way, but it doesn’t make any sense. It was the sixties, for god’s sake. There was Woodstock. Hippies were cool. But in eighth grade, at a Latin Convention … Continue reading
