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The Day My Mother Died

Roscoe trotted along, his tail wagging gleefully behind him. “Slow down” I commanded, tugging on his leash. Even at night, Lagos was hot. The moon was bright and small, the sonorous sounds of crickets chirping made it seem like the moon was dancing. 339 more words


More beach reading

I’ve already written about my first beach visit-beach reading session of this spring, back in April after my younger son’s running race on the seaside near Rome. 290 more words

Writing Blog

Keep silent, for the world only likes to hear about your pain for mere entertainment and gossip, with no signs of sympathy or condolence. They will show great concern about your well-being, but in fact they will be just pretending to be concerned. 166 more words

Writing Blog

Pressure to produce: When free writing isn't so free

Happy Monday, harpsichords and hellions! I hope everyone’s weeks are off to a good start so far.

I’m currently writing this in my bus back from Santiago to good ole Viña del Mar. 797 more words


The Reason

I can’t move on, not because I still
love you, but because I don’t love
myself enough. You never were and never
will be what I need but I’m scared to sleep under… 29 more words