tell me, how come nobody loves my fiction as much as i do?
i am working on my Authors to Watch page. i plan on interviewing everyone and possibly featuring a piece of work. if you know of someone who would be a good fit, please send me a suggestion.
i would like to write and work on writing-related things. but there's never telling what will happen during the course of a day.
going out shortly. if not writing, then reading, please.
The year everything I found was blue.
Blue paper, blue sky,
blue water, marbles,
hair ribbons, underwear.
"Where is my shirt the color of sky?"
Pin pad to panties with blue strip down.
I laid my pink cheeks against my
a dream of color floating above me.
I am Scottish blue eyes blazing,
a battlefield of beauty. "Gather 'round me,
ye knights of old. Your lady is in distress!"
In despair, called to dinner on Blue Willow plates,
my blue funk daddy mama brother's blue
eyes melting the nucleus of time splitting open,
its blue fire the cleanest, sharpest,
brightest, amazing thing most blue in the universe.
In nineteen hundred and seventy-six,
blue year of myself.