When I was 15 years old, my love of words helped me to decipher an interesting conversation going on around me. Picture it, 1994, a suburban high school: a 15 year-old sophomore is sitting in her Sports and Entertaining Marketing Class. She is sitting quietly, which is how she is able to hear the following, paraphrased conversation: …
About your Published Author.
Oh, I caught that. You're published? Yes, indeed. I'd like to happily announce that my second book, a collection of short fiction entitled The Loftiest Thing, has been officially published. *insert primal scream here* Congratulations, you. Wow. You've been working on that thing for an eternity, haven't you? Admittedly, yes, some of the stories have …
The Giving Tree. (Blogtober #26)
Let us treat our doomed love like the vivid orange and greens of autumn, like the majestic trees in our midst that offer their dying leaves with opened, giving hands, uncaring of the stark emptiness to come but falling ever so gracefully and beautifully onto the cold, hard ground-- The death of our love is …
by George, she’s got it. (Blogtober #19)
I do believe that this quote by George Eliot is everything. Don't you?
“…let that great sweeping wind blow the fogs out of her soul” (Blogtober #12)
Project Blogtober! (Blogtober #1)
Hi there. So because this marks the beginning of my favorite month, within my favorite season, and it's my intent to be regular with posting, I hereby deem October 1 as the first day of Blogtober. What is Blogtober, you ask? For the remaining 30 days of this month, I will post every day and …
For the Mister.
Dear Future Mister, Here are a few things to know and note: I'm moody. I won't qualify it with a comment about females and hormones. I was simply born moody. Sometimes it won't be your fault. Don't worry. When it is, I'll try to communicate that. When it's my fault, I'll try to communicate that, too. …
Just Saying.
Roads.
I took the long way home. We met at Infatuation Highway and I should have left you there when you held my heart merely on the surface of your hand and not in your shirt pocket, where it deserved to be, right next to your beating heart. I took the long way home. I waited …
Storytelling and Nursery Rhymes.
In the end, I think it was inevitable that writing would become my passion. Starting from the beginning, my fascination with words and stories was engendered by the original, the best, and the most compelling storyteller of them all: my mother. I remember watching her when she would tell a story. Her voice would dip …
This Square Peg. 