Essay by JoeAnn Hart
I stared at the puzzle pieces, which, like my notes on the play, seemed to have nothing to do with one another.
I stared at the puzzle pieces, which, like my notes on the play, seemed to have nothing to do with one another.
Writing has saved my life on more than one occasion, although I didn’t realize it at the time.
I gather my writing buddies around me for warmth and continue the struggle.
Where does the unpublished writer find the validation to go on writing?
I wanted my stories to transport readers to someplace new and strange.
It soothes me to think of Hemingway in rough draft.
We are not alone in our suffering, no matter how shocking or unusual our particular circumstances.
I’m the office girl, there for aesthetics. I entertain.
These days, I let characters show up on their own, talk for a while, then leave.
My skin tingled. I had my mother’s undivided attention. I was radiating, humming with bliss.