Showing posts tagged writing.

On the run

Ask me anything   I'm always doing a million things at once, always on the go,
but if I see something interesting, I'll be sure to let you know.

    "…that compulsion to craft words is a thing overpowering, a thing unquenchable, a thing undeniable, a thing overwhelming and in that moment of creation, a thing all-consuming."
    Maxine Beneba Clarke, in an interview with Going Down Swinging


    — 9 months ago

    #writing  #poetry  #writing about poetry 
    I know

    Right now you think no one understands how you feel.

    It sucks to feel alone, but we all do, sometimes.

    And you’re almost certainly wrong. No matter how you’re feeling, someone out there has felt like that before, and someone will feel like that in the future—I guarantee it.

    But it makes no difference, because you’re probably never going to meet that person who is feeling the same way as you are right now. And if you did meet them, you wouldn’t tell them how you were feeling anyway, because you wouldn’t expect them to understand. But that’s okay.

    How you’re feeling is okay.

    You’re allowed to feel like that. There’s nothing wrong with feeling like that—it’s part of human experience. Give yourself permission and feel it fully. And then, when the time comes, you will feel something else, and give yourself permission to feel that fully, also.

    As a dear friend used to tell me, we have to squat low to jump high.

    Summits are meaningless without the climb that gets us there. We view summits from the valleys and wonder how we will ever reach such heights. Surely, those peaks are meant for others, we tell ourselves. But we don’t go home. Instead, we struggle. We strive. We climb to the top, only to find we’ve hit a false crest. We reach new lows before we can climb high again.

    We all do—not just you.

    You’re not the only one having ‘crazy’ thoughts, crying for ‘no reason’, laughing when you hurt most. We all do this. 

    It’s one of the things that makes us human.

    And it’s okay.

    — 10 months ago with 1 note

    #I wrote this  #It's how I feel  #writing  #love  #pain 
    "I am a writer and my job is to steal life in order to paradoxically amplify and magnify life, my job is to at least attempt to reveal life to you in finer, more astonishing detail than you have ever before seen it."
    A Better Woman, Susan Johnston (1999)
    — 10 months ago

    #writing  #writer's life  #well said 

    When she was young, it was easier to accept his departure if she knew he loved someone else. Now it makes no difference, because she recognises the problem: he does not love her.

    — 11 months ago


    The problem with love in our culture, with the very word love, is that its meaning is not self-contained. It extends beyond the word, constructed by the relationship in which we speak it. So if I tell my mother, ‘I love you,’ it encompasses only familial love, though I love her as my best friend. And if I say ‘I love you’ to my best friend, it is that friendly kind of love, even though I love her as a sister, as my own flesh and blood that I would give her if she needed. And to my lover, ‘I love you’ means forever, happily ever after—even when I only mean tonight.


    — 1 year ago

    #love  #poetry  #writing  #rewriting 
    Writing process: Find a prompt. Write. Only figure out months later what you were writing about. Get the fuck out of there.

    Writing process: Find a prompt. Write. Only figure out months later what you were writing about. Get the fuck out of there.

    — 1 year ago

    #writing  #poetry  #panic 
    Blind Rapture: Not Love, Just Sick →

    A poem I wrote before entering into a narcissistic/co-dependent relationship. Only I didn’t realise that’s what it was at the time…or so I thought, until I read this.

    — 1 year ago

    #poetry  #writing  #my life 
    Turning points

    Some radio show hosts were talking about Sliding Doors the other morning. I’m a nerd, so I just think of them as turning points—those moments in life when I make a decision that seems like any other, and only later I realise that I’ve completely changed direction.

    I interviewed for a writing job about a month ago. The company called me while I was preparing for a race, packing gear bags and the like, hiding out in a cabin with intermittent cell coverage. Then I couldn’t interview on the original date because of a friend’s funeral, so I pushed it back a day later.

    By the time interview day rolled around, I was ready to cancel. I was sad. I was stressed. I was scared of another one of those most pathetic rejections: “We think you’re overqualified.” 

    Like many of those who told their stories to the radio show, I went against my better judgement.

    And I was immediately glad I did, because I felt a real connection with the people and the place. I felt like I was a part of it long before I left the interview. I felt like I was a part of it from the start.

    I’m still glad I went to that interview. I accepted the offer, and I’m loving my work.

    — 1 year ago

    #work  #writing  #culture 
    Karen →

    I was up late and not really sleepy, so I decided to write a little something for Trifextra: Week Fifty-Two. Click the title of this post to read it. Or click the Trifextra link and find me in the list, if you can.

    — 1 year ago

    #poetry  #writing 
    6 steps to judging your own writing →

    BeKindRewrite offers up the best editing advice I’ve seen for a while. I’m still in the writing phase for my long work, but I think this will help with my short stories.

    — 1 year ago

    #writing  #advice 
    Alice’s Diary (a snippet)

    So we walked and talked and I marvelled at our deepening, almost spiritual bond. It felt electric, like lightning crackling between us. But then I looked up and realised I was foolish in attributing a meteorological phenomenon to a personal connection, for even though it was only mid-morning, the thunderheads grew ominous above.


    — 1 year ago with 1 note

    #alice  #writing 
    Whatever happened to the mystery?

    Once upon a time, words were mysterious as it was deemed they should be. They lingered longer, invoking a magical languor that tied us to the pages we slowly turned. They spewed forth and spattered over us, filling all the spaces. They always said something, but it wasn’t always what we heard. Sometimes the words shape-shifted in the aether and became new beasts in our minds. But now the masses beg for plain-talk, forgetting the art of expression; the mystery is gone.


    — 1 year ago

    #writing  #poetry  #prose  #mystery  #nostalgia 
    Injury, Weight Loss and Pure Speculation →

    I’ve finally put all my speculation into words: what’s the connection between low body weight and overuse injuries in runners?

    (Click the title to read the article.)

    — 2 years ago

    #running  #writing 
    It just occurred to me

    … that it may not be a case of a difference of taste but merely a lack of talent on my part.

    Oh, no.

    — 2 years ago

    #writing  #thoughts 
    Alice (a snippet) →

    Natasha will be so pleased. (Click the title.)

    — 2 years ago

    #writing  #alice