I talk to myself. I do.
And I write myself notes, cryptic doodling commentary.
Because there's this ongoing conversation in my head, a whispering voiceover, and it's not always complimentary: you're alone elise--your writing sucks--you smile funny--you're old--no one wants to be with you--you're making huge mistakes--you'll never be good enough...
So, I tell myself stuff. Debate myself--not always a winning proposition--remind myself to do and feel and think about things I love--graffiti and cool quirky people and bubbly and late nights on the town and really loud music--the kind of lit torch that keeps those barking dogs at bay.
I keep talking to myself but--I'm not always positive that I'm listening.
I've been reading quite a few memoirs, courtesy of the Seattle Public Library. I want to write one, as you know, so I've been absolu...
A couple of weeks ago I collaborated with the indubitable thad wenatchee and others to write a radio play. See more on how it went:
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.