Writing weather.

My own noisy and fragmented writing life has me idolizing that quaint, hermit-like picture of writers. When I read novels, I imagine the men and women who wrote them. They are of varying age and are clad in thick, wool sweaters. They are always thin, wasting away as they drink mug after mug of tea, … Continue reading Writing weather.

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Because I can’t seem to find a few spare moments in which to write something…

...let's at least look at something beautiful, shall we? Piran, Slovenia           Nothing says "romanticized writer's life" more obnoxiously than a bunch of lovely photos of places in Europe, places that I not only visited, but visited with a bunch of other writers and then wrote about. But, hey, I'm comfortable with … Continue reading Because I can’t seem to find a few spare moments in which to write something…

“I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

(As one is wont to do when one begins working at 5am.) One: Summer will come, and with it, green and life and sunshine and warmth. Two: I work from home, every single moment of every single day. Three: I am married to The Greatest Man Alive. Four: I currently have six kids. Three of … Continue reading “I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”