the thing of it is

As a published but mostly unknown writer, no one is clamoring for my work.
I get zero e-mails asking when my next piece will be coming out.
No tweets begging for content.
Occasionally a friend will hire me for a project, but mostly I'm on the hustle, sending pieces out, filing the rejections, revising and sending them out again.
I sit down in my writing space a few times a week, and work on short stories, blog posts, videos, bits of a memoir and I wonder--yes sometimes I do wonder--
why.
*
It's for myself, broadly. I write to understand.
To noodle through things.
To find some truth.
It's because I have something to say--
that only I can say.
*
Today though, I question--
why.

my true love (one of them)

Here's a new video featuring one of my truest loves, detective novels.


It's a light-hearted chat about British detectives, glamour, and a review of two mysteries I recently read: Linda Fairstein's "Terminal City," and Ridley Pearson's "Middle of Nowhere."
Also, apparently I can't decide how to pronounce Fairstein.
Happy reading.

smug alert

It feels like a daily battle not to be smug.
I have a lot going for me, you know.
I'm a white American.
Educated.
Relatively well-nourished.
I have decent housing and enough food and access to all kinds of culture--music, movies, performances.
In a world of mostly have-nots, I'm a have. I have the stars upon thars (or was it the other way around?).
It's easy to get comfortable, to laze into the routine of work, home, boyfren time, me time, play time Netflix, a good book, sleep--it's easy to forget to remember to create.
How do I remind myself to push myself, to think different, read differently, try to learn to see differently and experience the world fresh and unarmored?
*
I must add, big big ups to one of my favorite artists, Kendrick Lamar, on his Pulitzer win this week.
Here's a video and song I think about often.

state of confusion

I've been feeling confused lately, and as much as I like to think I embrace it (hi George Saunders), the truth is--sometimes all the confusion is tiring.
I may have to move house, due to arson.
My job is meh, made more so daily by petty tyrants.
My city has somehow morphed from a rainy, arty backwater into a hot property. No more Ballard drivers. Now you dive out of the way of whatever sporty BMW needs to roar past you (only to screech to a halt at the next traffic jam).
And my country...this wonderfully delusional cesspool hijacked by criminal grifters and lowlifes--what more is there to say?
Confusion into creativity, straw into gold.
I know it can happen, I just need to take the time.
Make the time.

guardians of the groove

On occasion I tune in to WWOZ in New Orleans for their in-station concerts.
Check out the ever-chill Treme Brass Band performing in March.

gasping

I headed out of town to visit the fam almost two weeks ago, not knowing that while I was gone, my living space would be attacked by an arsonist. The fire was extinguished thanks to a quick-thinking neighbor but the charred first-floor wreckage and toxic air throughout the building are a daily reminder of some person's reckless violence. The cleanup has begun, but this is how I come and go now, just to be on the safe(r) side.