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The Stories We Do Not Tell

rejoice that our lips
did not permit more stragglers,
more detail, more vulnerability
toward those to whom it does not belong.

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River Song

for the first time,
i don’t want to go anywhere.

i want to stand Here and let
the rushing water flow on its own,
past my toes, over my chilled skin;

let it pull my hair forward over my face,
blind me and pass me by
instead of carrying me along.

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Shaman Song

I dream each night of dark water. Pulsing, swirling, ever approaching, but it does not drown my toes. The threat, but never the reality. Waiting.

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Why publishing triggers impostor syndrome

We’re terrified to deceive you into thinking we’re “good enough.” We feel weirdly guilty for making every sale.

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How to get your rebellious monkey brain to write every day

Do you make vows to write every day, but fail at keeping them? Here’s the trick to solving that…

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Do you smell that?

Scientists have proven that our olfactory sense is the most direct route to memory — and yet we can’t keep any of it.

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That shelf in Kansas means everything

When I write, I aim in my mind not toward New York but toward a vague spot a little to the east of Kansas…

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Without that one person

What would you do without your very favorite person?

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