Writing Tangents

Writing Tangents

In my early morning writing sessions words flow with urgent ease. Today was no different. Then Bam! I dropped my pen. I stopped writing because I caught myself veering into a tangent. Tangents happen. I’ve grown to love them. They often help me drop deeper into my...
Ladyhouse Blues, 1943

Ladyhouse Blues, 1943

Red dress—Rhythmic steamfanned by shade trees  White dress—Iced teamelting in the sun  Sighs of syncopated staticecho across townfusing Red and White  Doorway ladies on a summer mornsuffering Ladyhouse Blues.
Anything Can Happen

Anything Can Happen

Writing is momentum. When I allow my hand to run across the page— driven solely by what Natalie Goldberg calls Wild Mind— anything can happen. It’s why I show up. Why I’ve always shown up. The first to arrive and the last to leave because I couldn’t risk missing out....
Freeing Vesuvius

Freeing Vesuvius

Movement was key, and the key was around my neck; that’s what extra shoestrings were for— skate keys. After eight hours at a desk, where the only activity was my pencil gliding haphazardly across the page to form letters and numbers I didn’t care about, I needed to...