So this past week, I spend some time in Alabama. It’s the first time I’ve visited since the blog started almost a year ago, and I’ve gotta say, things have changed. I wish in the good way, but we don’t always get what we want.
Who would believe my stories about the south?
I bet many of you wouldn’t. I could write an entire memoir of horror stories, and most people would find it more believable if I filled them with imaginary demons.
This piece is about a remarkable friend and teacher that I knew for one wonderful year from 2015 to 2016. It’s still hard for me to re-read these words, which were written in the immediate grief of his passing. It is published with permission from his wife, who is a wonderful woman and loved him […]
People always say I should write about Alabama. “You have such good stories!” they say, and perhaps they aren’t wrong.
I was already an adult when I received a diagnosis for a behavior disorder that I’ve had for my entire life.
Let’s talk about writing projects.
Many aspiring novelists say that they always wanted to write. I can’t say that, but sometimes I wish I could.
Once upon a time, I enslaved myself to the notions of inspiration and mood.