Tag Archives: Writing

Rereading Austen’s works so frequently (at least three times a decade since my first exposure to her creativity), I marvel at her words. She slakes my thirst for verbal elegance, my lust for wit. I often scan one sentence several … Continue reading →

The country’s not on fire and I don’t play violin, and certainly I’ve never been in charge. But health and trade are dire and catastrophe might win, for autocratic attitude looms large. I wish that there was more I could … Continue reading →

Composing daily now lets me realize I tend to set my pen to paper waste. I’m using pages used to list supplies I need, and positing iambs in haste. It’s like I don’t expect much from my tries until I … Continue reading →

I started writing poetry at 6, and cranked it up when I was 41. Initially it must have been a fix for some need then unmet, for once begun I kept composing – efforts ever fun but never frequent, needing … Continue reading →

I told myself I’d write a poem a day. I found that each attempt inspired more. I wrote – that triggered words I had to say. Now editing’s become my favorite chore. I found that each attempt inspired more, and … Continue reading →