Writing to Survive
Transforming the painful past and the mundane present into a coherent story, one post at a time.
Latest Content
8:37, Saturday morning - 3 days ago
Tom cups his hands around the egg, his square palms and stubby fingers keeping it safe. He finds eggs fascinating, the weight they hold when they are fresh, uncooked, the way hard-boiling changes their heft. His mother handles them so gently, too,... Topics: Fiction
The noises of destruction - 6 days ago
There was an oak tree just outside the back window. Brown leaves clung to it through the winter, unwilling to sever their ties until they were forced out by new growth. Some nights, when I was tired of waiting and had a little too much to drink, I would.. Topics: Childhood hangover
Away from here - 8 days ago
We kept on digging that night, pushed through soil rich and dark, encountered earthworms as long as Joe’s middle finger. He had a trowel and I had a pick-axe, but most of the time we used our hands, took off our gloves and did the dirty work... Topics: Fiction
And five days later cold - 17 days ago
It started with Maggie May's post on how one could possibly cope with losing a child . Or maybe it started before then, in my first grief at nine over the death of my grandmother, the grief that morphed into my obsession with Ouija boards, seances,... Topics: On writing




























