Artist. Writer. Designer.

#Crush #ShowMeYours #love #Cute #Hearts #Fancy

One day I’ll post an article on my own blog again… until then, here’s another quick post! River Ram Press #InspireWriters #InspireReaders HIYA! This thought occurred to me, as I was snuggling into bed with a new David Sadaris book, that you have to listen to me chat on about River Ram Press when you have no clue who I am or what I am, or what I do. This, of course, might not bother you, but for those who are interested, this post is for you! I am a person who has always been

Since my first love, I’ve wondered if it was possible to have a truly vanilla romance as a writer. A writer can only know the world with highest levels of empathy and acceptance as they are always immersed in the lives of others in the books they read, and the stories they write. If a writer works honestly to complete a fiction on a drug addict or someone in a tough situation, they have to fall into that voice without restraint. The most likely result of this immersion will r

This is not a creative post. This is a simple public service announcement from your’s truly. You effect people. There seems to be a common trend in society where individuals do not seem comprehend this little life-fact. It’s really not that hard to believe if you mediate on your interactions that you’ve had during the day. To put simply, was there someone today who made you chuckle with a good conversation, or frustrated you because they seemed to not care about you being a s

Snapshots. That’s how he got up here. The green duffle bag had been under his bed. Already packed, though not well. How was he supposed to prepare himself? Not like college, where the unexpected was still vaguely expected. Condoms, bottle openers and loads of pens for the studying bit. Even when he moved into his own place, several blocks down the road from his mom; his books, his suits and the grey satin sheets that made him feel like the man he wanted to become. But for som

I stare at my knees. My lost day has been given back to me. Carol comes to check my pulse. She sticks the thermometer in my ear, sets my body back against the pillows and under the covers but I’m not in the room. I’m sitting under an afternoon sun, next to my pond. My skin warming, only to cool from the soft breeze. The birds spin tales of summer. I’m remembering Sam’s fingers as they run up my arm. Hotter than the sun. He begs me for a release. I stroke his cheek. I listen t

We sit at the wooden bench closest to the boatyard. The congestion of the city a few blocks beyond the back door of The Net can’t reach us here. The gulls, the occasional squeak of boat meeting dock, or groan of a taught rope is the soundtrack to our lunch. So pleased. “If it didn’t take forever to get out here, I’d come every day. We’re already down to forty minutes.” “We’ll get back in time. You’ll make sure of it.” “If they’re quicker than last time.” Jessica pulls out a p

I’m not even sure what to say. I did love him – for whatever reason. I still feel him in my chest when I think of losing him and the thought is hard to take. When we touch, I feel whole and safe.  But then I remember who is holding me and that feeling challenges itself into a confusion that weights down on me for days at a time. I don’t know what to do. – – – xx, Kristin #writing #creativewriting #personal #relationship #love #fiction #fantasy

There is something about this world, our world, that has begun to drive me nuts. It’s about unemployment, minimum wage and those who like to call my generation ‘lazy.’ I’m going to keep this brief, I promise, but I consider all of this a serious injustice to those who are working hard to survive with little support from our government and without the promise of a career – even with an advanced education. Now, I do get where the term lazy comes from. I imagine our grandparents

As I always say, I aim to be as honest as possible. So, here it goes… With my novel, I started with ambition. A glass of wine, the curtains closed, a new document open. I closed my eyes, took a breath and began to recall my last night in London – a moment I thought would open this on a strong note. The more I got into the scene, the fleshing out of the details, the more I began to realize this was the first time I allowed myself to really think about my life since I’ve landed

8:20. The clock has stopped and you don’t notice. One last shift of the minute hand before it freezes, locked into the early morning hours. Ticking, ticking, ticking. The seconds struggle on. Unable to face the pace of time alone they begin to slow. No longer seconds but uneven beats. Uneven breaths. Time is stopping, slowing. A single clock freezing on this moment where you lie waking. The heat within you grows. A warmth from your stomach, to your arms, to your limbs. Turn t