Writers, take note: A submission says, please pick me, I’ll be waiting. A pitch says, catch me or you’ll miss the ball.
You loved his talent first. You hope that he will not love you less, for all that you do not now achieve.
I thought I was the exception to every rule about writing being a hard living. I got exactly what I deserved.
Can writing change the shape of our organs? Do brains warp into book-making shape?
To all the wonderful would-be authors out there: Do as I say, not as I do.
Eat your meals standing up. Don’t sneak onto Mt. Kilimanjaro.
The works of June Jordan, Albert Camus, and Edward Said reveal the power of voice in literature.
My book was set in an office cubicle in New York. How was I to benefit from being in this rugged mountain landscape?