“You are so good. So good. You’re always feeling so much, and sometimes it feels like you’re gonna bust open from all the feeling, don’t it? People like you are the best in the world, but you sure do suffer for it.” My writing is rarely confessional. I try to open the juicy goodness of … Continue reading You Call That a Knife? This Is A Knife.
I want to believe in God, but I doubt He’d believe in me if I were to make Him up again. I’ve been staring into space for so long now and not once have I had the feeling that we may get on good terms, even if I allowed Him to exist again out of … Continue reading I Miss, Therefore I Am
from a work in progress Towns at rest, people going home, intermittent patches of glitter and dark everywhere – life, dear life was happening all around her, dancing restlessly through her lashes. Head leaning against the car window, Kara felt wide awake with fear and curiosity. Houses rolled past her like a tracking shot in … Continue reading Getting Ready to Meet the Devil
When you fictionalise your life you have to make up some of the words yourself — the way they taste, the way they sound in the air — and twist them until no one can tell what hell you dragged them out of, but see them for the engineering marvel they are. When they ask, you tell them you … Continue reading How to Be Your Own Story
Takes a deep breath and exhales. Pauses for a moment. Then begins to type. It’s been months now. It feels longer, like this has always been my life. If you knew what rages inside me you, too, would see the flat cloud formation at the top of the storm. I rain over myself, pull up … Continue reading The Storm Before the Calm
When they take me by the shirt and try to remind me who I am, I push the words back into their not-now cages. Nobody wants to read them, I remember. You don’t need to add any more vividness to it, I urge myself as if I were another. Don’t amplify their voices. Let them die down, … Continue reading Writer Girl, Interrupted
The morning was only growing colder. The streets were still dark. He crawled down roads, staring, as if looking through a window; drenched with past and haunting images of days that now seemed to never have been. But the minutes wouldn’t stop. He stood waiting, coughing. The chill of the night had entered him. The … Continue reading In Praise of Blood and Noise
