Where are you at 10:00am sharp on Saturday mornings? Sleeping in? Waking up? Waiting for brunch? I’m usually grabbing a seat at Mo Joe’s Cafe for a Shut Up & Write! marathon. To make it on time, I have to wake up before 8 in sleepy San Francisco to catch a just-shy-of-9 train that whisks me… Continue reading Why I Shut Up & Write
The scars you leave on me are just tattoos that no one else can see, they've bled ad nauseam, invisible ink pouring from the pores of lashes and old sores, a tale of muted agony tailed by the climax of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I knew. The stars you leave me with are just dreams that… Continue reading Expired Eyes
The question "Are you a writer?" always makes me uncomfortable. Some days I don't write. Does that mean I'm not a writer on those days? Where does the expectation of writing every day come from? Did I find it true for myself? Did I unconsciously assume it as part of some vague notion of what a… Continue reading I’m Not a Writer, I Write
The following snippet of Jack Morgan's review of blinks of awe brings up some fun questions: ...it's hard to judge his poetry by itself because it isn't. Are we going to start judging poetry like we do films and plays, where every job is criticized on its own merit? Should I take the sound production… Continue reading What Else Can a Poem Be?