Hating on yourself is not cool. It doesn't exactly open the creative floodgates. And "being good to yourself" is neither as easy as it sounds or as shallow as it may seem. In fact, I'd argue that its depths are vast, and when you dive down, you'll find wreckage and treasure alike. And isn't that where the writing lives?Read More
The truth is somewhere else, as usual. And that somewhere else is not far away at all but rather right here. It is here in the tapping of keys, in the release of words.Read More
You can't keep up.
You stop trying to keep up.
You decide it's worth waiting for.
You decide to screw waiting.
When I feel stress today, I will pause and ask myself: Is it an emergency? I am making this more stressful and complicated than it really is? What is the next step?Read More
The world is broken and the world is burning and the world is beautiful. Things are never simple, and yet there's a simplicity in claiming the complexity.Read More
We might still be alone in some ways, but alone is not the same as isolated. Alone is not the same as hiding. Alone is not the same as lonely.Read More
A deep breath. The light changing so subtly and gradually, it’s almost impossible to discern. But soon enough, it will be dark outside. We’ll sleep once more, than start all over again.Read More
Take some time soon to write about anger. Set a timer for 10 minutes and make a fast and furious list (see what I did there?) of associations you have with anger. You could simply start with “anger = …” and go from there, returning to this equation if you get stuck.Read More
Something begins to shift the moment we loosen the reigns and declare, “I am a person who writes. I am a writer.” And this is the crux of the matter: A writer is a person who writes, and not all writers must be authors.Read More
And then it’s over and the house is still standing and you still love the people you love and they still love you and another day is passing, a day we’ll never get back, a day some people would do anything to have just one more of with the one they love and miss and lost.Read More
I sit with this for a moment, tears in my eyes. I feel the impulse to deflect it, to say something funny or self-deprecating. But I don’t. I take it in. And then I thank her and say, “I need you, too.”Read More
So I wrote and kept writing. I worked and loved and read books to myself and read books to my kids. I wrote about them, I wrote about showing up. I wrote about depression and the layers and the falling apart.Read More