Category Archives: Writing

I know I’m not a workaholic, now I’ve stopped the daily office job. I see instead the lists and multi-tasks were how I managed the responsibility my choosing work and husbands, children too, imposed upon the time I thought I’d … Continue reading →

Three times I’ve joined a writers’ group before. It wasn’t my idea, but I agreed to weekly prose “assignments” or the more expansive task of trying what I need or want to work on. But my colleagues stuck to feminine … Continue reading →

I had a strong suspicion I’d succeed. I knew I’d be discovered by the time I hit my 50s. I thought all I’d need to do is make great prose and better rhyme. But I forgot to publicize my stuff. … Continue reading →

My natural point-of-view, when crafting prose, is somewhat like a fly upon the wall inside a place where characters I chose are interacting normally with all the room’s inhabitants. I seek no big catastrophe or comic interlude – I want … Continue reading →

I’ve always had a literary friend or two, who loves to read and longs to write, but never have encountered one who’d spend the time to practice. She awaits a flight of fancy seldom lifting off the ground, while he’s … Continue reading →

I didn’t mean to write this poem today. I mean, I didn’t set myself the task. I sat and tossed a 5-beat line, the way a child kicks a can. So don’t you ask me to defend a word, or … Continue reading →

Prepared to write bad poetry, I place my muddled thoughts up front, my pen in hand, and shifting in my seat, I set the pace of meter pulsing: rhythm on demand. There’s more to it than drumming – vowels grace … Continue reading →

I’ve seen attacks on concrete walls, with cans of paint, transformative in hands so fast. But more impressive is the way the man’s applying ink to paper makes a cast of monsters matter, pens a scene or act. He draws … Continue reading →

I never lived there long enough to trust it to be home; my memories are bright and pointless arrows littered in the rust that perforates a rooftop gone to blight. What I intended moves were really stays in houses built … Continue reading →