Noise competes for our creative soul. Clarity is somewhere the echoes of a silent room.

I cannot find spare words. Clatter invades even with my eyes closed. When I open them again life shrieks to be cleaned up, cared for, ordered.

This noise competes for our creative soul. Clarity is somewhere the echoes of a silent room.

The bare pages have waited for me to trust myself with words again. First words spill like heart ache.

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{Ten Thousand Tears}

Originally posted on Logic & Imagination:
My tears are welcome. I see them splattered, dried on my glasses as I peer out the window into the wintry, cold, gray, foggy morning; tiny specks on the panes of my eyeglasses. I wipe hard at these dried salty witnesses. They are a record of my sodden heart. Ten thousand tears…

My Very Little Faith

1. As it turns out I have A Very Little Faith. Perhaps I am a product of my human father who believed personal greatness was achieved through his tenacious hard work. Having a false humility, showing off A Very Big Faith, I saw that it was one that didn’t fundamentally change his character. Not really. This […]

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Happy Birthday to Me: A Look Back. And A Book Release.

I’m forty-eight today. Surreal. We will not celebrate for various reasons, none of which are as morbid as you’re imagining.  It is: no wish to celebrate (yes, I told Tom not to do anything) and being a little broke. I’m content. Instead of writing my annual birthday post, I’ve listed all the essays and poetry I wrote […]

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{I am a Witness. I have a Voice. I Intend to Use it.} Looking Back on Year Two of Being a Writer

There are moments when I hate what’s inside my heart, tarry and thick with things quite undesirable. Learning to be comfortable with yourself, and equally discontent in order to be transformed, is one of life’s most difficult lessons. I’ve just completed year two of “Being a Writer.” OTHERS As I have received affirmation from other writers […]

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{rough thoughts on love and mortality in the middle years}

I have no business writing when I need to be packing, preparing, paying bills, picking up prescriptions, cleaning house, and washing laundry, readying myself and the family for me to leave town.  These are very drafty thoughts on aging parents, ailing friends, launching teenagers, and being human.     Love and Mortality in the Middle Years Our […]

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How to Love a Drunk: Bits of My Story are published and #FFWgr

How to Love a Drunk When you’re an alcoholic you get to tell your story  and admit to your illness at the oddest moments. There is usually no time to prepare emotionally or to get the words just right.  What comes is what comes.  I actually enjoy these unrehearsed moments.  The questions I’m asked push […]

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{When the Truth Hurts: “Being Broken” is Not My Life’s Metanarrative}

Rilke says to celebrate the questions. 1. A truth has circled me like a persistent fly, zooming in close and then away again. When I stare straight at it, it becomes momentarily clear. Then suddenly it’s gone disappearing into thin air. The truth hurts almost as much as my perception of my Being Broken has wounded me, at […]

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