Outside my window snow falls, fresh snow piles up, while everyone is inside, outside there is no one, life is transient, it will go sooner or later.
Here I was trying to juggle that which I had to do (the money jobs) to survive, and the creative work that gave me life and made the blood run wildly through my veins, but I was miserable.
It climbed and climbed as a mountain that rose to a knob of rough green hills,
Logistics questions are invaluable for writers for two main reasons. First, they help you learn to present your writing to the world. Second, they help you understand who you are as a writer and where you want to go with your work.
I try to look as innocent as a sculpted angel, but crumbs pepper my wrinkled turtleneck, and hymns seeping from old churches pool in corners of the room. What if infiltrations of rain fondle the women who study Kant for fun and Marx for money?
Darkness clings to light, a delicate gray cushion of hope.
I have a compass And it always points North. Something in my inner ear Bear towards the cold, the lonely.
Miles never would’ve imagined that tonight his life would be on the line. He was ordinary. Grab the box. Pack products. Repeat. Get paid. Sleep. Get a day off in between. Life was cut and dry. “Work until you die,” he’d say.
I’ve been writing most of my life, starting around age eight with poems and journal entries. Writing then was natural; I wrote because I had something to say about the world, and if there was no one to talk to, well, I could talk on paper. It wasn’t until after I’d been working a few years as a press correspondent and an editor that I discovered my voice. It happened when I wrote on a topic I felt passionate about, at a time when I was angry.
Like boats tied in harbor, bicycles list against the harbor station walls—