Bohemian nights in Valencia where the gypsies shred violins into the coming dark "Rhythmic swells reverberate trough my lungs. The back streets of Valencia. Back street Europe. Romani enclaves and gypsy parts of town. We'll sit here in the Plaça de la Virgen with our stiff sangria, smartly bashful in red-faced delerium. For it is Spring and the blossoms have begun to sing. A nod to blanco nerium" A poem to the City of Oranges. An Open Love Letter to the City of Valencia, Spain.
On the art of journaling, note taking, and recording the world around you. These are my favorite notebooks for daily musings and painting.
Did you know that every week I draw a name from my mailing list and send out a personalized gift? Sign up and you could be next. Who knows, if i'm in Morocco maybe i'll send you a crystal from the Sahara. If in California, a shell. Or if i'm home in my lonely Middle West i'll send you a book based on our friendship. Or some local chocolates. Mhmmm.. chocolate. So, what are you waiting for?
You know how it goes:] the blustery mornings. Watery eyed and minus-7. The frozen pipes and snowed in nights. The red faced wind burns. But look at that, the stars have never been so sharp --outlined in the thin air like diamonds under keen inspection.
Confessions of an Antisocial Writer. Cafes? Don't do it. For he love of all things Didion! I mean, I get it, there is this undeniable sex appeal. This intrique: scattering your notes across that old bistro set, the heady demitasse begging for your lips: what's the WiFi code? Nah, I write longhand.
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,
reveal yourself: what are some of your challenges, demands for 2018? I want the juicy details! let’s get through this together.
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 of these two women came into existance upon two separate planes of thought Like a split in the multiverse that is the self. Shay. Shay is stability. Comfort. Success. Whereas Ingrid. Ingrid claims the part of me which belongs to the world. A manifestation of my desire to roam freely and simply be. But, I know in my heart of hearts these two worlds can not coexist. For they, separately, are everything. Yet together, in the folds of life, they cancel each other out." --In Another Country
Novelist. Reader. Archaeologist. After high school I hit the road. A spontaneous bus ride to Mexico City led me into the hazy mountains, the deep emerald forests of Chiapas where I discovered the beautiful and heartbreaking world of the Maya (yes, they still exist) and found something deeply rooted, down in my heart of hearts: A need to be part of something greater, to commit myself to people less fortunate.
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?
Enter Here To Win: http://bit.ly/2jO9jUk Hurry, enter now to win a Limited Edition Freewrite in cream color (1 of 100) before it's too late.
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
via 8 Things You Must Do BEFORE Buckling Down to Write that Novel
Am I fooling myself? Despite many attempts to complete my novel the writing continues to be obscured by vague details and scenes fall apart before closing. I understand how scenes work, and spend hours a day taking notes on published authors --what makes their work flow and read so beautifully?-- but I can’t seem to … Continue reading Am I Fooling Myself?
It’s that feeling like walking through a dream. When everything glows a soft infusion or orange, red and gold as if the world has absorbed the sun.
by Richard Risemberg There are many ways to become a good writer, but one of the best ways to become a great one–besides giving yourself a thorough grounding in the mechanics of language–is to get over yourself. The fact of the matter is that, even though you’re writing the book, the book is not […] via … Continue reading “Getting Over Yourself: Advice for Novelists — A Writer’s Path” |Absolutely phenomenal insight from Richard Risemberg
A wild existential crisis. The narrator is living in the woods of Norway, maybe 1890's. Going insane with every passing day while falling in love with a Lords daughter. Dark, funny, beyond its time. Norwegian authors are still years ahead.
Happy birthday to the mad Gonzo saint. Let's cheers to this mind of threaded insanities, the functional junkie. A toast of Wild Turkey, a drive through "bat country" and the knowledge that...