A nine-day virtual gathering dedicated to the act and craft of writing, featuring craft talks and panel discussions on topics such as breaking into publishing, refreshing your writing practice, and finding the community that will sustain your writing life.
That’s the problem with photographs, isn’t it? They remind you who is missing.
What we liked most of all was each other. All three of us, the glorious fabric of the relationship, the family we made of ourselves—but we were losing the exhilaration we’d once felt, the wild emotional loops of our shared-identity roller coaster.
The audience Q and A begins, and someone asks about the relationship between kink and queerness.
Do not fear your moments of sorrow, your deep frustration, the force of your being. I have made you strong enough to want and not receive.
I’d tilt myself and roll to each side on the dirt, offering the bees new areas of my body.
A house birthed me and will likely be the death of me.
Even at their best, in-laws were the occupational hazard of loving someone else.
Jealous of objects, that’s what grief makes you.
She tells me our tip percentage is all about our mindset, even though people don’t tip well at brunch.
Melinda’s violation of their agreement—to stay the same for each other, forever—was so profound that she split their shared sphere in two.
My mind drifted to the almost-lycanthropic being I’d imagined her becoming, half wolf, half researcher, neither coming back to me, dead or alive.
Had we been diverse enough? Had we changed hearts, minds, and souls? Had we been . . . truthful?
It was during my third year of teaching the saints at Holy Trinity that the burning began.
If there were any justice in the world, I would have been born a wolf. Instead, I’m a seventh grader.
"Something in the hole grabs back. Something that doesn’t give up. Something with fingers and nails just like mine."
Back then I genuinely believed that every next man was the last one.
Lori was in real, actual danger, but it was easy to convince herself she was not.
As the dentist works, her giant belly touches my arm and my head, and I think the baby kicks me.
The family in my novel is like this arowana. Born to hurt things. They are hunters, even when there is nothing left to hunt.
La-la land, she called it, that place her daughter went that she would never go.
What kind of story would you like to write?
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