At the banquet, I sat with four of my fiction workshop students, all Carolina ladies of middle age (three white, one black), very cultured and refined. The meal was surprisingly delicious, and the conversation over dinner was stimulating. What a nice change from teaching grammar at BCC!
There’s a good reason you might want to stay away from Pisces, Virgos, and Geminis.
“As far as a serial killer who made me sick. None made me sick but two of which got to me. I’m pretty collected and civil with them but Hadden Clark, a pedophile, asked me for pictures of little girls in dresses. Needless to say, that angered me.”
As Alice told me today, I don’t miss Ronna specifically so much as I just miss having a girlfriend. “And,” Alice said, “the solution to that is obvious.”
Because nothing makes you a better writer like reading does.
Some people still hold [the] view that restraints help psychiatric patients feel safe. I’ve never met a psychiatric patient who agreed. – Elyn R.
Call me a literary schadenfreudist, but I like books about writers who fail at life.
Do I deserve a wife? Or a house perhaps, and a good-sized dog who hardly ever barks.
Writers are now either Ivy League Iowa Workshop heels or self-promoting mushroom-taking, internet addicts who write about a pretend drug problem so they can write about something other than using their parent’s money to live.
Is monogamy just outdated and puritanical and we need a new young generation to reject for it to come into the mainstream? Is it simply jealousy keeping us from getting to know other people? Do I sound like Carrie Bradshaw right now?