pages. too painful.

Here's me and my shrink the other day: Shrink: "So how much longer do you think you have on your book?" Me: "You mean if I actually focussed?" Shrink: "Yes. If you focus." Me: "Probably two months." Shrink: "Well. I think you should focus on it. I'd read it when it comes out." Me: "Yeah, some days I start to work on it, but I stop. Abruptly." Shrink: "Because you get distracted?" Me: "No. Because it's too painful." My book isn't a memoir. It's...

sit. think. einstein.

I hid in the forest all weekend. I didn't do much writing, I sat and thought a lot. Sometimes, when projects are involved, I get to the point where I need to stop all work and let my brain stretch for a bit - which is exactly what Saturday and Sunday were about. As I continue to weave words in my novel, I'm also in the midst of writing some reports at work. One of the reports I'm writing is a social media manifesto for the CEO. It blows my mind...

not until the book finishes

As I settle into sporadic blogging and away from daily posts, I've been embracing my hushing head. The way I put it to a mate of mine tonight, "FollowMeToNYC started so I could blog every day until I swung life as a Writer in Manhattan, I've done that, I don't have much more to say." "You can't stop yet," was the reply I received. "Not until the book finishes." The book continues to finish. I tried to "blog" last week, but it was a tornado of...

some things belong in spine

Yo blog tribe. After my recent disappearing stint, I realized something. I am completely obsessed and immersed in a writing career and novel that I set off seeking nearly three and a half years ago. My creative writing lately hasn't been much for "blog" "blah-g" or however one might refer to this tiny corner of Internet land I've claimed. I sighed heavily last week reading about another drug-o getting signed on by one the biggest literary agents...

why i’ll be single forever. aka sing it child.

I was having a conversation with my bestie Chris the other day and we decided that my basic response to just about everything will be, "Sing it, child," for an undisclosed amount of time. No one sings it like Amy. While I tend to prefer lyric-less tunes when I'm writing, too many words can be distracting, I obsess over songs I love. Such as: Sing it, child. I think this song beautifully encapsulates why I will be single forever. I've never met a...
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