Tag: writing

the writing part of writing

Being an author is an odd sort of thing, I suppose, especially to those who are not *people who write* and especially not for those who also do not read. I was a voracious reader as a child. I absorbed words like a sponge. Stories were vehicles that transported me out of my bedroom and

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questions and curfews

You know how some days your coffee tastes extra good? Today is like that. Mmmm, coffee. In other news, California is going into a partial lockdown this weekend in an effort to curb the spread of Covid-19, which is to say that the governor issued a curfew curtailing public outings and/or gatherings between the hours

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new beginnings

While Samhain ends the Celtic year and the new one begins, it doesn’t always feel like anything particularly new is happening as November dawns, particularly here in a modern world, where life no longer revolves around the growing seasons. This year, however…this year feels different. I’m not just talking about an election, which to be

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I am one with the coffee, and the coffee is with me…

There is a certain ritual to the mornings, even now in the middle of this pandemic that has altered the way we live our lives. For me, that ritual includes an alarm at 6am, though I’m often awake well before that, a quick check of email on my phone (so I can be prepared for

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hello darkness, my old friend

I’m in the odd place of knowing I need to do something to address my current malaise and depression, and actually being able to take the next step. That isn’t entirely true. I have taken a step, by talking to my doctor about it. While that raises my mood a micron, all that does is

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pick a peck of pickled peppers

There are times when even an introvert agoraphobe needs some human connection, even if that comes in the form of socially distanced socializing. Yesterday I went up to my mother’s house for some of that human connection, and for an exchange of money for a monitor and home baked bread for some peppers harvested from

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let’s weekend

Somehow, it’s Friday again. I’m hoping that I get some writing time this weekend and that my muse is willing to play. Recently, when I have the time, I have the time, I have no input from my muse. It’s problematic. Of course, that doesn’t mean that my muse isn’t working on the book, there’s

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the return of the day job x 2

It’s Friday. It’s the first Friday in a long time that I’ve spent an entire week working on paying work. I mean, yeah sure, eventually, hopefully, all the work I’ve put into my writing lately will pay off, but this is the immediate…or close to immediate, paycheck kind of work. Did I mention that I

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black lives matter. period.

There seems to be a sense of expectation hanging in the air, at least here for me. Some of that is the fact that after months of unemployment, I will be starting not one new job on Monday, but two! I pretty much won’t have a life here for a while, but neither of them

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