How would that premise stand up if he examined it? That was probably why the Communists were always cracking down on Bohemiansism. When you were drunk or when you committed adultery you recognised your own personal fallability of that so mutable subs...
……, but as I am a scholar I feel obliged to document what it is like here, most of the time, between the dramatic climaxes. In truth it is like this: You cannot imagine how time can be so still. It hangs. It weighs, and yet there is so little of ...
The father's job is to teach his children how to be warriors, to give them the confidence to get on the horse and ride into battle when it's necessary to do so. If you don't get that from your father, you have to teach yourself.
The disciples of Jesus “found themselves thinking that if divine goodness were to manifest itself in human form, this (he) is how it would behave… he invited people to see differently instead of telling them what to do or believe…he located the...
You can’t imagine how much I regret what happened. For some reason, because of the type of relationship we had, I thought it was an acceptable training exercise; albeit a little extreme. But I’m not going to ask your forgiveness, I don’t want i...
The file clanked against me, my stupid idea nobody would have gotten had I ever done it. You even wouldn't have gotten it, Ed, I thought, watching her go. It's why we broke up, so here it is. Ed, how could you?
But unless we are creators we are not fully alive. What do I mean by creators? Not only artists, whose acts of creation are the obvious ones of working with paint of clay or words. Creativity is a way of living life, no matter our vocation or how we ...
Quitting’s not hard. Deciding to quit is hard. Once you make that mental leap, the rest is easy.” “Really? Was that how you quit me?” And just like that, without thinking, without saying it in my head first, without arguing with myself for da...
Wawashkesh these apples are for you, red on the white snow, their cider tang will find you in the gray woods. There is a story how a snake offered an apple, so sweet, so cold, those bite was sorrow. --excerpt from Eric Gadzinski's poem "Wawashkeshgiw...
I had a dream about you. You were wearing a spaghetti strainer as a helmet, and I said, “I demand you take my fishbowl off your head at once.” But the truth is it didn’t matter, because my fish had dried up and died weeks ago. That’s kind of ...
I can't take it anymore. The waiting. The wanting. Something inside me snaps. I hate myself. I hate that I have to deal with this. I hate my life. And I hate how I can't count on anyone to be completely there when I need them, exactly the way I need ...
There is a place for what my heart tells me about you, and there is no shame or guilt in it. God Himself is free to look in my heart right this instant and I know He would not shame or admonish me about what He would see there because the pure, ego-l...
The light of artistic creation is also blinding. The artist can’t see the suffering he causes to those around him. And the’ll never understand the purity of his goal, how the heat of his invention won’t melt the ice in his heart. He must be rut...
When you can see your life in retrospect, the romanticism of how good things once were gives way to the reality that positives and negatives comprise every day and every decade. (235)
That chain of relationships made me think of how connections are made--you read a book, you meet a person, you have a single experience, and your life is changed in some way. No act, therefore, however small, should be dismissed or ignored.
My body slid from human to wolf in a crack! of black smoke. Wolf was panting and I watched frost dissipate on my hot tongue, sending tiny rivulets of steam into the air. The world was sharp and clear, and I never realized how many different colors of...
D snorted. “Gotta be prepared.” He looked up at Jack’s face, frowning. “What?” Jack shrugged. “It’s just….” He sighed. “I’m starting to see words like ‘accessory’ and ‘accomplice’ floating around my head.” D barely rea...
... while I bathed, while I tried but failed to sleep, I considered how I might become more like the women I respected and admired. Surrounded as I was by ambitious, accomplished women, I couldn't ignore the little voice in my head that said maybe I ...
Pretty mountains, pretty river, bumpy but pleasant tar road... old buildings, old people on a front porch... strange how old, obsolete buildings and plants and mills, the technology of fifty and a hundred years ago, always seem to look so much better...
I looked at the woman crying over the doll and felt something else. I was sick of people acting against their own interests. Mooing about how to refinance the slaughterhouse. Putting skylights in the killing pen and pretending the bolt in the brain w...
The turning point was when I hit my 30th birthday. I thought, if really want to write, it's time to start. I picked up the book How to Write a Novel in 90 Days. The author said to just write three pages a day, and I figured, I can do this. I never go...
