A Writer's 21st Century Memoir.

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Eyes Without A Face

Eyes Without A Face

Sometimes I find myself missing literature that I have not and probably will not ever read. I find myself daydreaming of the non-existent day when some kind stranger returns the series of poems that my mother wrote and lent to a friend to read. I sit in the immaterialized section of reality hidden deep within my conscious to see the book of poems—forever lost—that I will never see.

I regard my mother as a brilliant writer able to make points, sway opinions, and write beautiful poetry and prose. She can spin stories with a pen out of thin air, but you can rarely capture her in the act. My mother said her love of writing poems died the day the book of poetry she wrote was lost under the guardianship of a friend who left them on an airplane. She would tell me that she had documented her entire life, up until that point, in prose. Read the rest of this page »

The Unexplainable 2018 Photo Album

New Year's celebration

I turned to look at my sister who was scrolling on her phone while sitting on the couch that I accidentally bought from Ikea. “What?” I said slightly puzzled. The couch, which is a whole other story, wasn’t the issue.

My sister repeated herself. “The movie, Black Panther, came out in 2018.”

“It feels like that movie came out two years ago.” I was genuinely confused at the timeline of events that happened in the year 2018. I had to pause and think back to what happened in 2018 to make me feel as though 2018 went on forever. Read the rest of this page »

A Christmas Message From The Cat

Christmas Message

I watch as my key slides into the lock on the front door of my apartment. I listen to the clicking and clacking of tumbling parts working to grant me entrance to my apartment. I open the door, and I am greeted by a very loving gray long-hair cat purring and rubbing up against my black vegan leather ankle boots. As I unfold my body back into an upright standing position after gently petting the friendly feline, my jaw drops in horror as I witness the spirit and the aftermath of Krampus. Read the rest of this page »

The Unused Mug

writer's mug

I refuse to use the grey mug sitting in the corner of the room. I glance over in its direction and watch it staring at me with its handle pompously held out and elevated to resemble a dramatic stance from a person who has their hand on their hip. At first, I felt as though the very existence of this particular mug sitting on a ledge in my room was an attempt to mock my efforts to achieve set goals, but I am beginning to see the mug as a visual reminder and tangible motivator outside of completing my intended task of writing a book. I do not want to use my National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) mug until I finish writing the rest of my novel. Read the rest of this page »

Garden of Life

beautiful blooming garden of life

Anyone can spot my apartment balcony from yards away. A cascade of green vines and leaves twirl elegantly around the bars below the patio railing. The grassy-colored greenery helps add to the peaceful paradise feeling you get when you sit in one of the patio chairs underneath the awning. You cannot avoid the bright greens from the various herbs and spices sprouting in medium-sized round pots and planters. And when you brush up against the springy shrubs adorning the sides surrounding the outdoor space your noise is gifted with a smell of fresh basil and parsley that lingers long enough to encourage a small grin from your mouth. Read the rest of this page »

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