It all started with Facebook.
After I signed up, there was no turning back.
–Since my sister, Kay’s, murder, I’ve received numerous emails, books of poetry, and comforting cards from the most unexpected people. I find it
Natalie Goldberg, author of Writing Down The Bones, says anyone can become a writer.
Sorry Nat, I disagree.
That’s sort of like implying anyone can fly with the Blue Angels,
Or anyone can audition out for the Bolshoi Ballet,
Or anyone can become President of the United States.
It’s simply not realistic.
Sure, one can take lessons, learn the techniques, memorized the steps, & study the electrical panels, but without passion and slices of soul, without lungs and heart, one is, well, merely ordinary.
I ask you: Is ordinary enough? Is ordinary what you want?
What I mean is, do you write dishonestly, mindlessly, without blood?
1. What was the main reason you started a blog?
I started a blog as a means to mourn the loss of my sister who was murdered in 2010 by her husband of 25 years. I started a blog to write words I couldn’t say aloud in real life. My blog is a platform to scream, swear, cry, & become utterly, beautifully, wholly liberated.
1. I can scream my
bloody head off and nobody can tell me to shut the fuck up. (at least, verbally!) Stop rolling your eyes, Mr. L.
2. Since it’s my
domain, after all, I can shoot photos of
my idiot cat reading books and digging though the garbage can just for the hell
of it & 50 people will comment on how absolutely adorable he is. He.
—A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write
fiction nonfiction–Virginia Woolf
—-My Writing Room is finished.
I told my best girl, Tia, about this particular chandelier I desperately
wanted, needed, coveted for a ‘Room Of My Own.’
~One afternoon, when I was four years
old, my father came home, and he found me in the living room in front of a
roaring fire, which made him very angry. Because we didn’t have a fireplace.—Victor
The truth is…