I failed at my first attempt at NaNoWriMo. I failed miserably, in true Aly-fashion. An exciting idea was met with an initial burst of energy and followed by a tailwind of neglect. I ain’t mad about it.Continue reading “NaNoWriMo — 46 011 Words to Go”
F— found the post-it note when she emptied her pockets before throwing her jeans in the hamper. “Who would make a note of the fact that they want to love someone?” she thought. “Maybe it wasn’t a reminder, maybe it was a note from one person to another, probably a woman to a man. No, it was from a man to a woman. Coward.”Continue reading “NaNoWriMo #5”
“Boy don’t you know you can’t escape me,” K— sang as she drove home from work. Singing along with Mariah Carey put her in a good mood after a tougher day at work. “And we’ll linger on, sime-tane-eous the feelin’ is strong….”Continue reading “NaNoWriMo #4”
“Why do I still miss her?” M— thought as he walked into his apartment. “She didn’t even like me.”Continue reading “NaNoWriMo #3”
When F— got home after brunch, she made herself a cup of tea and sat on the armchair closest to the window of her living room. She sat sideways so she could look outside and watch people walking by. From the fifteenth floor, she could see enough detail to read peoples’ body language.Continue reading “NaNoWriMo #2”
I first heard about NaNoWriMo a good while ago. I paid little attention to it but have been reminded of it every November since then. I thought I might try to participate in some way this year.Continue reading “NaNoWriMo #1”
The last time I was on a plane, I finished reading First Person Singular by Haruki Murakami. It left me feeling light. The stories themselves felt unapologetically unsophisticated; I wanted to find meaning in the short stories that I’ve come to believe simply isn’t there. The stories in the book are simply that, stories. And, they’re wonderful.Continue reading “The Languishing Unwritten Story”
It’s been a long time since I’ve sat down to write. It feels like it’s been much longer than it should be. The pattern of my words is disjointed.
But, tonight I fell into a familiar rhythm. After work, I stopped by the liquor store.
The lights are low, there’s familiar music playing loudly enough, and a beer’s sitting on a coaster. There’s a candle flickering. All of the things are in the right place.
This is where I come to write.
I’ve kept enough space for a good while now. I had to. I should’ve declined tonight’s invitation.
I started tonight’s writing with a letter that I’d love to send but never will. As I was writing, it stopped being a letter. It became an airing.
It’s more interesting to read than this post.
See, I want to be able to write when I’m sober but I can’t. I wrote a post about how it’s possible, but I was lying to you and to myself.
I want to be able to write when my words aren’t being swept into the spillway.
It’s an odd place for it, at the edge of a children’s playground. It doesn’t quite belong but it’s always been there, for as long as I can remember. It can’t be there on purpose, it’s the result of an accident. I’m sure of it. Why would anyone plant a pear tree there?Continue reading “A Pear Tree in a Playground”