Blogvember #2: Deliverance.

Back in the day, I was a proud purveyor of the poker face. Betraying nothing on the surface while all kinds of madness/side eye/frustrations went on underneath. Perhaps it was a by-product of growing up painfully shy: I didn't want anyone to notice me anyway, so it wasn't necessary to communicate, even via my face, …

the writer.

Simply put: the works that I produce need to thrive and be shared. We write for ourselves first, yes, but an audience is intrinsic. My family and friends have long supported my writing. And that was enough for me for a long time. It's a big world. If 10 people I know and love like …

try: Artists Series #1

If you're an artist (writing, painting, singing, sculpting, dance, figuring out Math equations which, to me, is a true art form), perhaps, like me, your main medium is often influenced by another art form. For example, if you draw, you may love dance as a source of inspiration. As a writer, I find myself inspired by …

“…wings of her own.”

I wrote this poem seven years ago. Bon Throwback Thursday.   Mrs. Birdman   When he finally lands, the odds are that she’ll be waiting for him by the riverside. He’ll tell marvelous tales of the sweet air up there, of racing with skylarks and ravens, that near-miss with the eagle… She’ll tell him that Billy …

The Choice.

I haven't shared fiction with you in a while, have I? Here's one you'll likely find in my third collection of short fiction. Yes, another book is coming. Call it a spoiler. Share your thoughts about it in the comments, won't you? Enjoy your Friday and have a bon weekend. *********************************************************************** The Choice The envelope sat …

Elegies.

I'm still writing poems about him. I don't think that will ever end.   Elegy. 16. Perhaps I always knew I would end up near you, my dear, departed one, near the streets you once walked upon, near the air you once had the privilege to breathe. Somehow that dreaded constant summer began to call …

I Didn’t Forget.

In July 2005, my family lost my beloved father in death. Naturally, all things suffered because of this loss, which meant my overall desire to do anything. One of those things was writing. Significant because writing has always been my tool for dealing with personal pain; my longstanding avenue for catharsis. But I didn't want to pick …