He began the fall in wealth, His arms hanging heavy with green, new-money Made in spring. It was the cash that grows on trees: Easily spent and easily made, Budded by summer and Minted by the gold-standard sun. Investing at Autumn’s asking, He lays a few leavings in her chill-bone hands But scatters the rest…
I'm reading Gone with the Wind again for what is somewhere between the fourth or seventh time. It seems that anytime I am between books, unsure what to read next, or feeling unsettled, I turn (second to my Bible) to that enormous novel for no better reason than that it is a darn good story. But my…
"He now is struck with wonder by what's wonderful in him. Unwittingly, he wants himself; he praises, but his praise is for himself; he is the seeker and the sought, the longed-for and the one who longs; he is the arsonist— and is the scorched." - The Metamorphoses of Ovid In his Metamorphosis, Ovid paints perhaps…
A year ago today I picked up a copy of Rupi Kaur's Milk and Honey in a Waterstones in Cambridge. I read it cover-to-cover without sitting and — admittedly — without purchasing it. I was intrigued, but, when I closed it and placed it back on its display, I realized that the fascination I'd felt with…
Skimming the stories I loved so, I saw the growth of a writer. Glimmers of the novel I am drafting now and the woman I am becoming shine out in those early pages of limping syntax and predictable plots. Every now and then, a good sentence or single word stands out and says, "There is hope for you yet, Scribbler."
One of the great recurring dilemmas of my life is how to pick the perfect journal. Honestly, when it comes time to shop for a new journal, it feels like going on first dates: there are some options that look good but are boring, some that are perfectly nice but no spark, and some that…
When I was a freshman in college, I had the not-uncommon experience of feeling 150682234% overwhelmed. It was honestly a feat of grace and strength that I stuck it out, but by the second semester, how happy I was that I did! As that terrified, homesick 18-year-old, I went on a choir retreat and nearly…
My dear Mr. Dickens, I hope you are well and not at all rolling over in your grave. (It is, after all, nearing Christmas and renditions of your famous holiday tale are promenading before audiences who are mostly wondering whether they actually turned off the oven or whether the turkey they pretend to like is…
As I was practicing piano the other day, I wrote a series of three questions to ask myself as I worked on each detail: Is it clean? Is it beautiful? Does it mean something? First, I work technically, listening even to exercises to discern if they are played with clarity and precision. Are they clean?…
Method acting is a key point in my novel. One of the characters is an actor who has become "stuck" in the role that he last performed. He has lost himself into the character he was contracted to play. There are obviously a MANY problems that arise from this (many dark moments for this poor…
