Writing — that good, automatic type of writing that I haven’t experienced in years — is like waiting for a bowel movement.
Category Archives: writing
On Vela Magazine and Women Writers
I interviewed Sarah Menkedick, writer and founder of Vela Magazine, over on Longreads.
A Memoir is Not a Status Update
This site is more a museum of me, my posts like exhibits behind panes of glass.
On Boyhood and Writing (and Then and Now)
After watching Boyhood, I wonder if I’ve been looking at it all wrong. Perhaps there are no versions, but just me.
Twitter Poetry
Sifting through my digital detritus
some rare moments of light
while others
speak only
of the weight
I wish to escape
Blogging, Rediscovered (or Finding the Right Space)
I’ve paralyzed myself as a result, and created a visual space that accommodates just one mode — a single version of me. I’ve left little room for experimentation; I’ve promised a certain experience for my readers. Or maybe this is all in my head, and I overthink things.
Maybe I just need to shut up and write.
Publishing on High Notes
I publish something on a blog when I have something to say, when a point can be made. I’m quiet otherwise. But real life happens in between status updates, doesn’t it? The mundane and uneventful, the low points, the days I feel ugly and inadequate — I wait until it all passes, until something crystallizes from the buildup.
Writing For Me, Writing For Others
I’m much too slow to be part of the day’s internet chatter. More reflective than reactive, I find that once I’ve formulated a response to a Big Idea, everyone else has moved on. It’s already hard to write, period. To write for others is harder.
Notes on a Static Front Page
I’ve been wondering what to do with this blog, and I’m leaning toward creating a static front page, pointing to category collections and posts I’m proud of — and moving away from the blog format completely. Preserving the best moments of me, with my posts acting like exhibits in a museum.
NaNoWriMo or NaBloPoMo: No, Thank You
Do we really write to get things out of us? Do we ever shake these things — these things we’re deeply curious about, these things we’ve experienced and have changed us to the core?