To write about running or not to write about running: that is the question.
Back in September, I was in a dark place, and had been for about six to eight months. Outside of my wife, I’m pretty sure everyone else was oblivious to this fact, which is a bit of a scary thought.…
I started writing poetry again back in March. I was walking through Northside library on Rio Rd. when I saw an announcement sitting atop a waist high shelf. It was a call for poems — a competition to be more…
Let’s switch gears to something more lighthearted with Thanksgiving just around the corner. In a kindergarten class project titled “I’m Not a Turkey,” I sat down with my son, Henry, earlier this week to write a story about a turkey…
Why talking to someone is a courageous act.
Books are finished products, and are read from page one until the end. That’s not how books are written.
Today is my birthday, and no, I am not just writing a blog post so you can tell me Happy Birthday. But hey, if you want, there’s always the comment section below. Why I’m writing is because (1) I like…
American novelist Ernest Hemingway offered up his take on the loneliness of the writing life when he said, “Writing, at its best, is a lonely life. For he does his work alone and if he is a good enough writer,…
I’ve decided to try something a smidgen different on my blog. That is, offer you the author’s point of view on writing a full length memoir such as When the Lights Go Out at 10:16. Writing can often be a lonely process, so this is me opening the door of my world to you. Today’s perspective relates to why I chose the title I did for When the Lights Go Out at 10:16. But first, a short summary of what the book is about.
I look at it this way: with my last name alone being so comforting (“Pillow”) it’s, to quote Darth Vader, “my destiny” (to publish a children’s book).
That’s going to be part of my pitch at least.
When contained, creativity will manifest within you in other, less desirable ways.
When we think of being sick, we don’t often think rosy thoughts or the many benefits that come of it. Wait, being sick has benefits?
Who cares! Do it anyway.
Updates with respect to the book I am writing, When the Lights Go Out at 10:16, a memoir of childhood and friendship in the face of cancer
The urine and fallen hair at the base of the toilet were reminders of where my dad once stood.
Grief is a fire that burns slowly. There are no flames high as with anger. The coals are hot just below the surface, smoldering.
Shortly after my dad died, I began sleepwalking and experiencing night terrors. Then my dad appeared to me in a dream.
Now more than ever, my hometown of Phenix, Virginia, carries with it ghosts. The ghosts of my childhood. Almost fourteen years ago, I wrote these very lines.
Happiness as a state of being in the present moment.
An excerpt from Sleeping Birds Do Not Sing, a novel about mental illness and friendship that I wrote a decade ago that only one person has ever read—until now.