A few years ago I wrote a novel. It’s unpublished, despite a few good efforts at getting a traditional publisher….
I’ve always thought storm clouds to be beautiful. Often when I’m sad I’ll reach for a work that resides in…
We both thought I might be a rebel. It would have been nice. They get to hang with General Leia, after all.
Close your eyes. Let the busy mind go. See what you see. An unexpected keepsake.
this too, you see
I used to look at older people when I was young and think it must be lovely not to be a tangle of uncertainties and social awkwardnesses. I think it was a mirage. Maybe it was a straight out con.
that’s one way I deal with pain. To see it as part of me. And as part of recovery. I guess I’m remapping my brain, and distracting it from a painful sensory overload.
And, now, here I am, unravelling some of the tangles life left me.
I wrote a little story last year. It was about music and its potential power and beauty. It explored the terrifying notion of how it might feel to exist without music in our world. It was a tender little piece. … it had magic, for all its lightness and air. It had depth.
Trees curled and curved in, up and over, and boulders pushed the earth aside. Hat tucked his spidery legs underneath and settled down on a mossy rock. Silence enveloped him.