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some stuff i've written about writing

a love letter to my friends (in late spring this year)

you should have been here by now. for six months i have been staring out this window at the naked trees, watching the snow fall and melt and waiting to share spring with you i was going to buy $100…

Confessions of a Reluctant Writer

I stopped being vulnerable about faith a long time ago. I still write things that are true and real and come from a deep part of me but it doesn’t really feel risky anymore. I’ve said “fuck christianity” and “nothing…

for Keenan, if you find this

Yesterday when I picked you up from school you said to me: “Today we got to do whatever we want to in school. Guess what I did?” I guessed that you made music on an iPad, because I know how…

The Chaos of Hope

Words are wild, violent slippery things; you never know when they might go flying out of control. But if anything, this essay is about losing control, about leaning into the chaos of hope.

day 18: this illusion of vulnerability on internet screens

What does it mean for folks like us (who choose to write certain words about our lives on internet screens for anyone to read) that the thing withheld is often the real story?

day 17: anatomy of not writing

On the surface, things feel mundane. There’s work, a lot of work, and work is good and I’m grateful for that. There’s reading the news every day and watching that godawful election burn down in slow motion and I feel distant from that but it seems like the only public conversation left these days.

day 10: a million ways to lose your soul online

I see a lot of folks in this industry advertising courses and tools and books and seminars with secrets that will change your life. But there’s one ad that I haven’t seen on my newsfeed yet…

day 9: and sometimes you don't

I’m tired and my eyes hurt. It’s a good sort of tired because I’ve spent all day having adventures with my kids, but tired just the same and I honestly don’t feel like writing right now. I tell you that…

day 5: daaaaaamn I gotta write some shit

what’s point of being holy if you’re not going to be happy while you’re at it? Also, why would god make butterflies and puppies and sunrises and nachos if (s)he didn’t care about our happiness?

day 1: all the static and colors inside of me

I’m here because I want to be the kind of person who writes. I want to stay in the habit of putting words to all the static and colors inside of me. Even if it’s just for ten minutes.