7/20/2025
Hey, how are you? I realized today that I open all my posts to the point. What could be construed as cold? I hope not. I figure most readers do not engage because of time. I hope sometimes that it is not because of my writing. I just put what is on my mind or in my heart and sometimes it may fall flat, but I suppose we can’t be hilly all of the time, right? Ha!
But please, feel free to comment, even if to say hello. Or what are you reading? Writing? Watching? Listening to? Dimmi!
But I was also thinking, after I banged out a quick piece centered on an argument. How lately, some of my strongest writing has been prompted by rain? When I look to the left, while I writing, I look right out the door (always open during the day) for light, for gloom. And when it is raining. Especially with the Midwest heat, everything seems so lush and full and alive. And it awakens sometimes the opposite in me? again, bless this surreal heart. I do find joy in things, I do! In most things actually but there has always been a touch of the grim about me. Chalk it up to a tipsy childhood riddled with an awkward amount of familial tropes. I learned everything the hard way, am deeply flawed because of it and am just the outcome of it. And my writing, an echo?
So I am going to keep writing in one way or another until I don’t feel that pull anymore. Surround myself with words and lines and scraps. Memories, observations, wishes, and curses. Prompts and circumventions.
Howdy, I've been reading Carson McCullers and having a blast at it. Writing 800 words a day steady—it's been a good summer so far.