In Which Half a Book is Written

You read right. I finished the first half of my novel – 47000 words. Breathe in, breathe out – it’s all right, I keep tellingĀ  myself. I put so much of myself into this story, it feels like pieces are missing. I feel almost empty, drained – drained of words. Maybe it feels good? Feels … Continue reading

In Which I Am Uninspired

I am moving. Not far, though – really, just up the street. But I am upgrading from an apartment to a house with my boyfriend and another couple, who bought the house. In this new house, there are chickens. And vegetables and grass. Or at least, there will be. Right now the house itself is … Continue reading

Stream of Consciousness, or For Old Time’s Sake

I found this the other day – a piece of prose/stream of consciousness that I wrote a little while ago. I’m not sure what it means anymore – I do not feel this way now, but for whatever reason, this flowed out of me at a sadder time. The reason I’m sharing it is because … Continue reading