• After the panic

    by  • October 14, 2006 • 2 Comments

    We finished the play and it’s not bad. Could use more polish and I hate the end, but overall it’s a good start and I get to turn something in to my class. But as I was writing, I had a one of those frightening thoughts that make your skin tighten and tingle. I...

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    Panic Play

    by  • October 10, 2006 • 3 Comments

    I ran into the back yard and screamed at my muse,”Quick! I have to write a ten minute play and it’s due in two days.” Then I stopped and stared. My muse sat in the same lawn chair she’d been glued to for the past two months gulping down red wine and smoking so...

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    A Real Job

    by  • August 13, 2006 • 3 Comments

    I went out and got a real job. I leave my home wearing clean pants and go somewhere specific, where I sit at a desk with a computer and do work that other people tell me to do. For doing this, they give me money. This is called a “real job.” It has a...

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    by  • July 8, 2005 • 0 Comments

    Right now, Medusa is looking over my shoulder and laughing at me. Every letter I string together makes her giggle and when I come to the end of a sentence, she rolls her eyes and sighs deeply, as if she is ashamed of me. I hear her say, “That is the stupidest thing I’ve...

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    by  • June 21, 2005 • 0 Comments

    Here it is. My novel. All written. Complete with characters, a plot, sub-plot, climax, a point, numbered pages and half decent prose. It’s all here, everything I need to tell this story. Now to make it shine. Every time I hold this 330 page monster and feel the weight of all those pages, my...

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    by  • May 22, 2005 • 1 Comment

    I’m close to finishing my novel, which means I’m having panic attacks every time I look at the pages and doubting my ability to craft a decent sentence. Obviously I can’t spell, I forget the rules for comma’s, and my characters speak a stilted, forced, uptight language with lots of exclamation points. What’s a...

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    Writing a Monster

    by  • April 3, 2005 • 4 Comments

    First you dig up the body; the past, the skeletons in the closet, the buried truths, all those stories and overheard conversations you’ve been waiting to use. Then you put the pieces into some kind of order by writing a rough draft. Next, you pump it full of energy, electricity, hope and terror, until...

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