A strange thing happens when you begin to contemplate the end. It’s as if setting such a definitive goal opens the world to endless possibilities: a phone is buzzing,
I will be confident -- not sad sap, sipping quietly in corner bar. I will be, act, speak with intention. I will be finished, will shop my novel.
"My sudden love for these two women occupies entirely separate philosophies that i’m only now beginning to understand: Like a rift in the multiverse of the self. Shay represents stability. Comfort. Success. Whereas Ingrid claims the part of me which belongs to the world. An manifestation of my desire to be free. to get away. … Continue reading “In My Heart of Hearts, I Will Always Love You.” | Deep in Memoir: The Inner Novelist Meets the Conflicted Writer.
Whether you’re downing books, brew, or both, I’m wishing your a wonderful holiday season and merry Christmas,
I mean, it's not cheating if nothing happens. Oh, but emotions run deep. Which begs the question: What’s worse, an emotional or a physical affair?
Excerpt from The Outsider: A Memoir? "The sky out my window is that fiery red which makes the heart swell with life and there it is again: that sensational expanding within my chest, rising to my throat, gripping and stinging my eyes."
The sky out my window is that fiery red which makes the heart swell with life and there it is again: that sensational expanding within my chest, rising to my throat, gripping and stinging my eyes. Oh, no. Not again. I bury face into the scarf. Traces of fig leaf and sandalwood bring her rushing … Continue reading The Outsider
*unedited from rough draft (The Outsider: A Novel) I woke up one morning in a state of complete despair and found myself debating the absurdity of carrying on like this when I had options. They were clear as day and night and manifest out of who-knows-where: One, I could kill myself. Two, I could go … Continue reading One: I Could Kill Myself | Two: I Could Go To Africa –scene from The Outsider, A Novel.
(from an old rough draft of The Outsider) It’s pouring out. The cobblestones are slick and the alley is narrow and dark and the sky above, that maroon storm-black. There’s smoke and exhaust hanging in the cold air. My breath is thick and the streets shine like glass below the lampposts. My pack is soggy, … Continue reading A Glimpse of Granada
"I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. Feel the sun beating over my brow, speckled and damp and her brow wet like honey. The blood rushing and wet like honey. The blood rushing. The beating heart in Kansas City. The honeyed skin, the beating hearts, the beating suns. Wet like honey. A triangle … Continue reading A Triangle Under a Spotlight Sun