There are many kinds of writing lives, and yours includes a day job.
As part of their graduation showcase, our 12-month generator students have been given the option to read, record, and share an excerpt of their projects.
That’s what my own process of writing, and living, is like: trying to conserve, redirect, and restore my energy in the most fruitful way.
I decided I was going to write something just for me, something I loved, to keep me company during the hard, lonely months of 2020.
The best books I read weren’t reviewed in the ‘Times’ or on hold at the library or stacked in a TBR pile. They were in my inbox.
A part of me fears that my writing community will take me less seriously if they find out my highest academic honor is a high school diploma.
“I’m a writer who uses a scanner, an X-Acto knife, and the library.”
“I think that that’s more interesting than saying no.”
After a month of writing in the passenger seat of my Honda Fit, I said “fuck it” and started writing in the bathroom.
When I’m feeling stuck and lonely, I try to remember that I’m in conversation with the world—that I am alive in it and it is alive through me.