This is where it all began. This was the beginning of not letting fear rule me. From teenager to adulthood, I had hidden my work in secret places. Then one day, about 15 years ago, I burned it all. I destroyed every poem, short story, all my work, and I began fresh. I became a blank slate. With nothing. No promise to ever write one tittle of a word or anything, ever again. I started over. And I just lived. For a...
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“We tell ourselves stories in order to live, to justify taking lives, even our own, by violence or by numbness and the failure to live; tell ourselves stories that save us and stories that are quicksand in which we thrash and the well in which we drown, stories of justification, of accursedness, of luck and star-crossed love, or version clad in the cynicism that is at times a very elegant garment.” The Faraway Nearby by...
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The sun sets and night creeps in like shadows laying down to sleep. In darkness came the anxiety, slamming into me like a freight train. Frozen in my closest near my pajama’s, I sucked in a large, gulping breath. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does happen, it is a doozy. Our art, our writing, our stories, our friendships, and being our authentic selves, will undo us. There are days, perhaps many, when we wish...
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Winter is shrugging its cold shoulders Each day a trial in change The flowery weeds are creeping up Announcing spring And you marvel yet again How a weed can have such beauty You have thought yourself much like one too Persistent, resilient, and wildly growing Where fertile grasses can not Go The wildflowers are soon to come The ones you pass by on interstate highways Coloring your route with blues and reds And people pulling...
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