I'm feeling abandoned and unimportant.
There's no one to discuss this with. How would I even start?
Which leads to, I'm feeling mad at myself for not doing the things I know I love so that the first thing doesn't matter so much. So, enough of the Pity Partie and onwards to photos, music, people, writing, creating, laughs, art, and the night.
Re-reading the biography of Edna St. Vincent Millay, I wish the author wasn't so coyly trying to understand-slash-explain ESVM's dichotomies. Why couldn't she be passionate and an addict and wildly creative and loving and cruel, a terrific and terrible spouse, a woman known widely and not at all? Hello, almost every male writer evar. The sexist double standard endures, no, it flourishes.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
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.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...