It happened one August. I was to drive from Louisiana up to New England for college, arriving early for orientation leader training and the like. Because of the way the timing worked out, one of my best friends was able to tag along for the road trip, have a short New
Author: admin
I love the sky on those late-April, early-May days, the days that are warm and sunny, temperatures reaching up above seventy. In my childhood, those days came sooner, which makes them all the more precious to me now. But yes, the sky. I’m talking about the kind of day where there
Late winter is the coldest time of the year for me—with the novelty of snow days worn off and the magical holidays over, I’m tired of ice, tired of looking out the windows seeing the grass (from the inevitable unseasonable warm snap melting snow) and sun and outside *looking* like it
If I had a penny every time someone pitched an idea at me to ask if I thought it had legs, I’d still not have enough to buy a soda (curse you, inflation!), but I’d still have a big mess of pennies to fit up and cram into a coin purse.
I grew up with a bayou at the edge of my backyard, and on the other side of the bayou, a field. We—my three siblings and a motley crew of neighborhood kids, kids whose afterschool care came in the form of grandparents who lived in the neighborhood, friends who lived in
When I was a teenager, my friends and I went through a “boffer” phase of building our own foam-padded swords and fighting with them. We’d hit up the local Home Depot for pipe insulation foam and lightweight pvc pipes (we started with bamboo stalks cut out of one friend’s backyard, but
*(here’s a bit of a mission statement—skip to the end if you’re just looking for biographical information)* I can imagine that if someone were to poke around here at random, they might be confused at a seeming lack of focus. What is this, anyway: a blog about writing? a humor site?
The first time I encountered the “Two Kinds of Writers” trope was in college, when a creative writing class I was in decided to bond, literarily speaking , by mutually looking down on those talentless, soulless hacks who use such a gauche thing as an *outline* to write their formulaic dreck.
*I was looking through the notes app on my phone, and I found this. I only have the vaguest recollection of jotting it down, but can only assume that it was very important and 100% true and accurate. Do with this info what you may. It has been presented in its
As strange as it may seem, given how governed by whims I am, I like having a *reason* for everything I do. I’m not saying it has to be a good reason, but I like there to be a reason that’s solid (at least, solid by my own—admittedly twisted—standards). It is