Goodbye to all the people who said I couldn’t do it.

Peace out to those who never believed in me, and fuck off to those who have hoped I’d fail.

I am up at five o’clock every morning to put words on a page because this is my story and I want to write it and write for a living like I used to.

So be wary, writers, of putting all your eggs in one basket, because if the basket drops, you do, too.

Get up early. Get your butt in the chair.

Wake up your imagination and say hello.… Read the rest

“Write an English sonnet centered on the theme of the supernatural.”

Yeah, okay, I thought as I closed my laptop. No schoolwork for me today.

Instead I’m going to go out and enjoy the fresh air under a blue sky full of clouds and dance in the grass until I have to collapse there, lest I die.

I will lay and feel the breeze and smell the flowers around me, and hear the children laughing and the birds singing.

I can’t help but think it wasn’t writing to themes Shakespeare was worried about, it was missing perfect days like these.… Read the rest

They got him a new car every time he crashed his old one.

The kid was a speed demon, but they loved him no matter how reckless he was, no matter how casual he was with taking other people’s lives in his careless hands.

Trying to stop him was useless. He would have left home, he would have disappeared on them.

They would try to reason with him, they would tell him he might ruin his future (but not that he might die) and his only answer was:

“Speed never killed anyone. It’s becoming suddenly stationary, that’s what gets you.”… Read the rest

The day winds down and you know you’re leaving work only to go home to try to answer the daily question of what the fuck is for dinner?

You’re glad to leave work, but going home has its own stressors.

There’s the child who chews with her mouth open, loudly. There’s the boyfriend whose loyalty you question. There’s the job you love but you’re terrified of losing.

But you open the door and there are flowers on the table; vibrant, bright, ferociously alive.

Their scent is a welcome assault; you breathe and smile.

You never know what’ll be a daymaker.… Read the rest

I didn’t want to fight. I wasn’t made for battle, I was made to sit on a throne and be quiet and pretty.

When my brother ran in, he was already mortally wounded and died in my arms.

His blood was the anger I needed to pick up his sword and fight back.

A rebel entered. Had I been empty handed, he may have left, but I was armed, and he engaged me.

His sword came down, and I saw the faces of my people in his blade.

I hacked and stabbed and finally killed him.

But all for nothing.… Read the rest