She is a rich soil, plowed and seeded, then left to grow until harvest.
What do you do when you want to write a short story but coddle your characters so much that even the antagonist/villain becomes a milquetoast and nothing ever happens in the story world? I think I understand a story's building blocks. I've read dozens of books on the subject. But applying that knowledge has been … Continue reading i’m a stranger to my inner writing sadist
She was like June, sunny with flowers to cover daffodil husks no one would see.
The panic comes unbidden, triggered by random things: lightbulbs flickering, a stalling engine, the memory of a dream no longer achievable. It grabs at my chest with a cold hum then creeps outward. Its icy hands squeeze my lungs, quicken my breath. It drains the body of all soft things, empties the bone of marrow, … Continue reading an ode to forgetting
Virgil and Sharon Smith measure their day by television programming. As they tell guests during commercial breaks, "...two o'clock is Bonzai Gunslingers. Then at three we watch Entitled Rich 1950's Girl Pseudodrama. After that is Guess the Price of This Crap..." From morning to night their day is jam-packed. Right now, it's 8:23 on Wednesday … Continue reading banana bread, anyone?
I conceived this blog to write about the crafts and art I work on and to indulge in general commentary and observations. It's supposed to be the kick in the pants I sometimes need to get off dead center on projects. After all, the blank canvas, the unformed block of stone, an uncut piece of … Continue reading life in jello