But maybe that’s why I love a show that features people back from the grave. Maybe I like playing make-believe a little too much. Any sort of fantasy I can sip on. Because Depression, oh she’s on every channel and I can’t mute her.
If you write about me, I was worth writing about. I wasn’t a drop in the bucket, or a notch on the bedpost. I wasn’t just another girl who said they liked your smile or who said, “I bet you’re going to do cool thing someday.” It means that I resonated, that I left a mark.
Most people think that unless they are going to be an artist (singer, painter, writer, etc), creativity isn’t really necessary in their day-to-day lives or careers
I kissed someone for the first time after my dad died. Is that why romance tastes a little like my own heartbreak?
The girl who journals is someone who is accepting of life’s highs and lows. She finds words to capture the spectrum of human emotion. She dances with vivacious adjectives for her happiest days, and embraces cold words for her loneliest nights.
“#NaNoWriMo is the one month of the year that I don’t have to pretend to be normal.”
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve written something, only to find myself agonizing over it, even to the point of despising it right off the bat. I am my own worst critic.
You grew up with pressure to secure a ~*~practical~*~ job. You were told starring on Broadway did not count as such.
Perhaps the best known quality of craft distilleries’ products is their adherence to creativity. Their collective tag in public mind is that in each uniquely bottled spirit is one bereft of anything traditional, and that it is distilled to surprise, amuse, and forget what’s archetypal in a mainstream liquor sold in every supermarket in America.
Our satisfaction is a language that communicates to us what we *really* want — and so is our frustration.