I'm a writer currently studying Creative Writing and Genders Studies. My work has most recently been published in Water Soup Magazine and The Traveler newspaper. I'm addicted to traveling and just want to make this world a little bit smaller.
Lynn turns off the alarm clock and turns to stare out the window. The sky has a blanket of clouds keeping the sun at bay. Her hair fans out behind her, spread across the duvet. The dreams linger in the corner of her mind and she rubs her eyes in an attempt to erase them. She runs the tip of her fingers across her lips, remembering the brush of his against hers. Groaning, she rolls over, pulling a pillow over her head.
“Alright,” Lynn huffs, climbing out of bed. She pulls at the blinds and rests her forehead against the glass. A group of birds take flight from the telephone wires they were perched on. Continue reading →
As with any post that contains incredibly personal themes, I must preface the blog with this: I am okay and I do not want you to ask me if I’m okay or talk about my mental health to other people without my permission. Good? Good.
So here’s the story.
I woke up and the weather app told me that today was going to be the best day in a couple months. The temperature was a glorious number of 64 degrees and I had my favorite class later. It was going to be a perfect day.
Architectural details are easy to appreciate and observe when you’re in a new place. If you’re visiting Rome for the first time in your life, then chances are, you’ll notice the details of the cathedrals more than you may notice the details of your apartment building at home. Things become invisible the more you notice them and architecture becomes stone and brick when you walk by the same building every day. You marvel in the beauty of a building you traveled thousands of miles to look at but complain at the eye sore blocking any view you may have from your bedroom window. Many aspects play into this, such as the actual aesthetically pleasing appearance of one verses dull colors and boring design of another. One building may have a rich history filled with fantastic events while another was built last week with the purpose of selling people hamburgers.
In order to continue discovering how other writers see our crazy writing world, I’ve talked with a long time writer peer of mine, Jack Kardiac.
This interview was another over email. I met Jack online (goodreads.com). We met when I posted a need for a beta reader for my short story collection, Perspectives, and he responded with a proposal: I’ll read yours if you read mine. Therefore, I read his second short story collection, Squint, to be available for purchase soon. We worked really well together and have continued to ever sense. I look forward to working with J more in the future. Below is a short biography about Jack and a blurb for his available book, Squint.Continue reading →
My words alone only carry so much meaning alone. While I like to say that my words make worlds, other people’s words have just as much power.
Therefore, I’ve interviewed a few different writers. This one was an email Interview with Lewis Ben Smith.
Lewis was my 8th grade History teacher and it’s still taken some getting used to calling him “Lewis” rather than “Mr. Smith”. Recently, however, Lewis has been more of a peer of mine, as we sometimes edit each other’s work and promote one another. I know him well and have read, in full, two of his four published novels. Continue reading →
The drive from my childhood home to college takes me through Dallas where I see this sign. “We won’t tell your husband” it says. To this day, I can’t figure out the intended meaning of the advertisement.
Are they reaching out to women who may feel unsafe or whose husbands are too controlling to allow them guns? Is their target audience girls who want to know how to use a gun without their husband’s knowing for a less ‘self-defense’-y reason? Are they extremely sexist? Or extremely feminist? Why would their husband not need to know? Are they saying girls can’t handle guns or girls should be allowed to handle guns whenever they want? Continue reading →
For some reason, it’s often seen as selfish or arrogant to be proud of yourself. If you say “I’m proud of this accomplishment” you run the risk of other’s thinking you’re conceited.
There is merit in modesty humility, though. It’s probably not a good idea to wear a shirt that says “I’m the best” everyday or force your friends to throw you a party every time you make an A or B on a test, but if an accomplishment is a large, unusual, and meaningful one, then it’s 100% okay to be proud of yourself. If you just made an A on your MCAT, then you should have a party. Yeah, modesty is a virtue but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to voice your own excitement at your achievements. Continue reading →
First and Foremost I must give credit to the idea of “chain smoking” to Austin Kleon in his book Show Your Work. In the book he discusses the importance of chain smoking (in relation to writing) and gives examples of writers who practice it. Now that’s out of the way, I’m going to Steal Like an Artistand write like the idea were my own.
Chain smokers go through multiple packs of cigarettes a day. As of 2013, the average adult aged smoker went through almost 22 cigarettes each day. In order to continually be smoking without a break, they often will light one cigarette with the butt of another.
Can we, as writers, identify ourselves as chain smokers? Not in the (albeit unhealthy and honestly gross) habitual way of literally inhaling the smoke of cigarettes, but in how we write. Are we going through multiple pages a day? How many writing hours are we averaging a day? Do you light the beginning of one story with the end of another? I believe we should all strive to be chain smoking writers. I know I do. And In no way am I saying writers have to write 22 pages every day, but continuing forward without a writing hiatus is more beneficial than we may give it credit. Continue reading →
Most vividly, I remember the rain. My hair had been stuck to my forehead and I was shivering from the cold. Running through the trees had winded me and I was struggling to see through the fog and rain. The house was large, hiding in plain sight.
I was scared, lost, and alone. I was also only six years old.
Now, twenty years later, the memories have become distant at best and fictional at worst. Once, I made the mistake of confiding in my girlfriend at the time, telling her all I remember about that night twenty years ago. I told her how the memory of the night feels physical to me, but the evidence of it was never found. Continue reading →