The longer I write fiction, the more I realize that my version of "write what you know," looks like me working through my trauma by writing it. The first time I knowingly wrote my trauma into a story was when I wrote about a character being molested. It was supposed to be her story, part... Continue Reading →
I feel the dreams lurking in the corners of my room after I wake. They drain my day. This strange amalgam of fiction and reality...
“In white culture, forgiveness is synonymous with letting go. In my culture, I believe we carry pain until we can reconcile with it through ceremony. Pain is not framed like a problem with a solution. I don’t even know that white people see transcendence the way we do. I’m not sure that their dichotomies apply... Continue Reading →
I got a lot of interesting feedback from my last post. Mainly bewilderment. I blame myself. I use this blog as a way to flex my writing muscles, but if you ever read one of my novels or my recent poetry, you'd notice a difference in tone. For instance, my current work in progress contains... Continue Reading →
I'm having so much difficulty, as of late, finding a way to vent my pain. It's currently backed up in my head in the form of an endless scream. I drown it out with books and cooking shows and crushing candy. Plastic screens and magic black squiggles that envelope the here and take me... Continue Reading →
In quiet moments you will cross my mind. I sometimes feel like you have never left. Just when I think I’ve left the past behind, Your shadow chokes my heart and steals my breath. Allured by kindness to captivity, Your harsh demeaning words broke down my will. Blinded by love and my naivety, I grew to... Continue Reading →