The Road Less Written
Writers helping writers on the path to excellence
Is My Writing Good Enough ? Self-Doubt and Advocacy
Warning: This post contains hero-worship. We all wonder if our writing is good enough. Good enough for an agent, a publisher, a reviewer, our cat. Last fall, I followed Rachel Thompson’s exchanges with a not-to-be mentioned book guru who was slamming all...
Hit Me
I must have been around ten when my amazing ability to withstand a human punch first surfaced. I’d been walking home from school when I passed a group of older kids shooting hoops in the park. Looking back, I can see how my appearance might have chummed the waters...
Writing Programs: Are they for you?
I am addicted to education, almost as much as I am addicted to writing. But there comes a point when we must all ask ourselves where our priorities lie. If you are considering a writing program such as an MFA or even just a local class, this is certainly a question...
On Solitude and Writing
To know in a way mortality could never award how rhythmic and intertwined the dance of night and day was. To know the Darwinistic injustice of a jay-raided nest and hear the first hymn of autumn as it roared across the valley and cry in happy sadness with the stars at...
How to Know When Inspiration Hits You
We know what’s supposed to inspire us. Nature. Music. Other things that inspire awe. But, do we really recognize inspiration when we see it? Do we recognize it when inspiration hits us? I don’t. Especially when I hold “inspiring” to a higher standard. Inspiration...
Writers Staying Engaged
As we approach the New Year, I am reminded of our need as writers to stand up from our desks from time to time and shout to the world "Here I am!" And by that I mean that we must, as writers, become engaged in our community. As a Bay Area resident, I have found there...
Friend of the Devil
If you’ve ever spent time in a morgue—and let’s face it, we all will some day—then you’ll remark on just how spic-and-span everything looks. Scrubbed, ivory-colored, tiled walls and gleaming linoleum. Shiny stainless steel pans and scales hanging everywhere you look....
The Ghosts of Second Street
I was willing to ignore the phantom reek of rotted yams and insecticide that I had narrowed down to the kitchen cabinets. And those jokers from the halfway house next door weren't so bad once you got to know 'em. Located along Flint's Second Street, nestled comfily at...
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