The Stories We Do Not Tell
rejoice that our lips
did not permit more stragglers,
more detail, more vulnerability
toward those to whom it does not belong.
River Song
for the first time,
i don’t want to go anywhere.
i want to stand Here and let
the rushing water flow on its own,
past my toes, over my chilled skin;
let it pull my hair forward over my face,
blind me and pass me by
instead of carrying me along.
Why publishing triggers impostor syndrome
We’re terrified to deceive you into thinking we’re “good enough.” We feel weirdly guilty for making every sale.
read moreHow to get your rebellious monkey brain to write every day
Do you make vows to write every day, but fail at keeping them? Here’s the trick to solving that…
read moreDo you smell that?
Scientists have proven that our olfactory sense is the most direct route to memory — and yet we can’t keep any of it.
read moreThat shelf in Kansas means everything
When I write, I aim in my mind not toward New York but toward a vague spot a little to the east of Kansas…
read more
Steal This Plot: Grandpa keeps sending psychics…
What if you lost your grandfather, but he just won’t go away? And what if he’s got an agenda?
read more
