I write because my fingers bleed words. There may be times when they won’t, just as they have been before, and I know this hurts more than the bleeding. Either way, I must draw from this fount, whether it trickles or overflows. I write because I cannot gloat too long at a well-crafted line, at … Continue reading Why do I write?
I don’t mind being vulnerable today. It’s one of those days when I wonder about the point of my writing journey. Here’s what triggered it: In the past week, I received updates about the poems and short stories I had sent to magazines and contests. None of them made the cut. A few more rejects … Continue reading Baring it
So I wanted to write a happy poem. I'd make it all cheerful and smiley. But there was a catch, what would I write about? I thought of the things that make me happy. Relishing a mango, its luscious yellow flesh squishing between my fingers? Nah, that would be too shallow. How about reading Murakami? … Continue reading Struggling to write a happy poem
My fingers run in a frenzy over the keyboard, words frothing out like a can popped open.