Dear Frustrated Writer, I see you. I get you. I am you. And if I’m not you, I miss reading your words. You want to write. But you’re too busy, too stressed. There aren’t enough hours in the day. And oh look, Netflix. You got a rejection letter. You suck at this (you don’t, though). You’re writing at the edge of your desk. You don’t even have a desk. You write on your lap. On the bus. When your kid…
As of Saturday, I’ve been blogging here for three years. I wasn’t online much over the weekend, I was kind of busy eating baked goods in an art gallery and then laughing because I know during this show. I planned to write when we got home, but I found myself watching Breaking Bad instead. I got up at 5 am on Sunday, and was depressed for the rest of the day. I needed ice-cream and a stupid movie so I…
I have a confession to make. I hear voices in my head. The voices of characters who don’t know where they’re going because I haven’t finished their stories on the page. I’m responsible for the identity crises of thousands. I get several fake shrink bills in the mail every week. One girl in particular has been stuck in the bathroom for about four months. She’s angry. She was other places to go. Trust me, we’ve had words. My problem (?)…
