Clarity. Misguided voices in your head. Speak of hatred, anger, death. Whisper signs. Corrupt your mind. Silently lie in wait, of your last breath. Don’t give in. The voice is pretend. Your wounds are real. They throb and bleed. No longer hidden where eyes can’t see.
I need to write a blog today. I wanted to write about me. Me. Me. Me. ME. But I can’t. Because I finished a book called Fuck Love and it was so fucking amazing I can’t be all about me. I must give props to Tarryn Fisher. You make pain so beautful. You write words
Lunam, book one I just sent off the manuscript for my second book. It’s totally not like my first one. It’s a fantasy set in reality. If that makes any kind of sense. It has wolves, and hot guys, and unwanted pregnancies. It’s all over the place and it’s fucking awesome! The book is called Lunam. Look
In the Big Chill Jeff Goldblum plays writer and he’s asked what his novel is about. He says, “I’m going to write about this weekend.” Glenn Close asks, “What were you going to write about before?” He says, “Last weekend.” That is by far my favorite line of the entire movie. In fact, it might be