Proof of Love begins with 32-year-old alcoholic Eliza Clark in the stuffy Manhattan office of a lawyer whose name she doesn’t know but who has managed to track her down to deliver the lost three-word will of her father. As Eliza is pulled back to her rural hometown, she travels back through her memory while… Continue reading Short Pitch
But anyway, here I am, writing these words.
Is it selfish to turn national tragedies into self-reflection? I struggle with this. It seems both futile and self-aggrandizing.
On stopping long enough to savor the moment.
It’s a simple equation, though: discomfort = growth. As is unknown = scary.
They said writing would be hard. They forgot to mention editing.
Process over outcomes
I don't know who's more excited: me now or me as a fifth grader.
Why is this night owl up so early?
Is this what writer’s block is—not feeling stuck but feeling tapped out?