Some Things Fade
Shady Acres was exactly what I needed in August of 1995.
That spring I had been living out of my pickup truck while waiting tables at Grand Canyon. In July I quit the job and set out to bicycle across the Great Basin desert--a fool's errand writ large. On the afternoon that I peddled into Laughlin, NV, the temperature spiked at 117 degrees.
The Map of How to Write
I FINISH MY READING at a Southwestern Writers’ Conference. I have spoken about crippling pain from a hiking fall and seeing a dust cloud from the Gobi Desert turn the sun moon-silver over the Black Rock, and how a volcanic out-cropping seen against sunset can become figures from a Javanese shadow play. A woman in the audience stands. “Could you please tell us,” she says, “your writing process?”
Breakthrough Writing
I honor story. I honor the importance of craft. I imagine that if you have found your way to Breakthrough Writing, you are discouraged or dissatisfied with how you honor your story, your craft – or both. Together, we can bring you home to your writing. You’ll find no gimmicks here, no cute buzz words, no guarantees. You will find support in rediscovering the ancient art of storytelling, and help with the craft of bringing your stories into their finest shape.
First You Listen. Then You Write out the Clues
“What kinds of things do you write?” asked Martha…
”I’m not exactly a writer,” Sam corrected her. “I’m a listener. I’m listening for clues about day-to-day life on the planet.”
“But do you write things down?” asked Jessie.
“Of course,” said Sam.
“Are you writing a book?” demanded Martha
“No,” said Sam. “I’m saving stories. So a hundred years from now people will know how it was with us…”
—Nancy Willard. Sister Water
How are You Spending Your Life in Your Real World, Writer?
Two years ago, dozens of old mobile homes lay beyond this fence. Kids screeched and chased each other. An old woman and a green-haired girl sat on a stoop and smoked cigarettes. The scent of chili drifted in the air. Home-made? Take-out from Los Altenos? I had no way to know . . .
I Want to Write, but There are No Stories
You have come to the opening of the Maze. There are no instructions. There is no map. You have been here before – and you will be here again. Or not . . .
Being Afraid: I’ve Avoided Writing About My too Common Reality for too Long
This little girl knows terror. She knows how it is to wake in the night to the sound of her mother vomiting and her father’s panicked whispers. It will be a few years until . . .