If you love strong, feminist voices, you probably already know all about Anaïs Nin. I never had the pleasure of reading her work in high school or college, although after reading In Favor of the Sensitive Man and Other Essays, I’d make her essays required reading if I were a teacher!
Hi, friends. I’ve got to get serious for a second. JK. I’m always serious. But seriously. I need to know if your story is like mine. People who write for creative expression: do you also write to make a living? Is writing a big bulk of your job? It is for me. I write resumes.… Continue reading Writers with Writing Jobs
How much of writing is re-writing? How much of living is re-living? I sip my coffee. I remember the voice inside of me croaking out; she’s hoarse; she’s deep; she’s poised. I remember shouting for someone to love me. Men. All of them. Love me. I remember this voice changing. Going dark for boys with… Continue reading Your Writing Voice
I am witnessing a miracle: the convergence of philosophies and religious beliefs from those who have previously lived in opposition to one another.
“Make an effort to remove all labels that you’ve placed on yourself. Labels serve to negate you. You must ultimately live up to the label rather than being the limitless spirit that is your true essence. You’re not an American, an Italian, or an African. You’re a member of one race, the human race. You’re… Continue reading Labels: Wisdom by Wayne Dyer
Inspired by Kris Carr’s blog, “The Myth of Finding Your Purpose.” I am not my future children. I am not my future husband. I am not my home. I am not my mother. I am not my father. I am not my job. I am not my earnings. I am not my conditionings. I… Continue reading I am not.
You sift through one called “Future” and find a thousand other eyes shaped and colored like Miranda’s.
After reading The Nightingale, WW2 won’t get out of my head. A good book transports you; a great book makes you forget that you aren’t actually there. France in WW2 is not the happiest place to take a mental vacation. But I can’t help but see the significance in modern times, how I ended the… Continue reading The Nightingale and Now: A Trip to WW2
OOOoh, Stress. How my life feels like an ode, worshiping the very ground you stomp on. How I’ve invited you in like the friend who says, “Let’s get drinks!” but never has money to pay the bill. (Okay, I don’t have friends like that). But IF I DID, YOU WOULD BE THAT KIND OF FRIEND.
between sleep: i wonder if my hands get tired of keys. or if it makes running them across the strong back of my lover even more satisfying. i turn on the music, and it’s a slow slow lag, a lazy, dreaming drum, my hum, oh my hum is barely audible now, my love is not… Continue reading random writing from an old November draft