May be this is too much. I've participated in NaNoWriMo 7 times. And each time I wrote more than 50,000 words. Last year I wrote all 31 stories for Story-a-Day. But finally, this time, I'm stuck. I started a story, but this day has just not been good.. Oh but who cares? Everyone has a …
Category: life
Maybe No Passion Whatsoever
The world may benefit from my stories...but that's a bit hard to believe, isn't it? Somewhere in my subconscious must be the belief that sharing what comes out of my head is a good and interesting thing. What evidence is there for this grandiose thinking? The rejection letter received today reads: "Thank you so much …
Maybe for 31 Days
May begins. Maybe I can't do what I set out to do. Well, what I set out to do is be a published & read author. There are too many factors beyond my control for that. More immediately, I've set out to blog every day and write a short story too. During the month I'll …
Be Careful What You Wish For
When I was 8, I asked God to help my dad find a wife. Dad did find a wife. And she proceeded to turn our lives upside down with her madness and cruelty. When I was in high school, I tried to make this deal with God, "I don't care if I can't get a …
Show!
More art or more writing? I had an art show today, and it went well. People I didn't even know bought my art! A few friends bought art too. And friends may tell you they like your art to be polite. But few people part with their money to be polite. And I give people …
Far Away from Disaster
My school is now on spring break, and I won't see my students for a week. Some of my students are from Japan. What words do you use for tragedy? Shouldn't a writer know? And what do you say to someone who is so very far away from home and family? Why should anyone though …
The New Year and the Old Years Long Ago
New Year's Eve I finished reading Girls of a Tender Age, a compelling and disturbing memoir. Mary-Ann Tirone-Smith writes about her childhood and the murder of a childhood friend. The story would've caught me even if a classmate of mine* hadn't been murdered back when I was in the eighth grade. She was not my …
A Boy
When my son was five, he made friends with a boy who was nine. We were neighbors. The boy lived in a one-bedroom apartment with his dad. The boy spent a lot of time with us. One day he showed up at noon and didn't go home until eight. Not once in those hours did …
Marta Bacon 