I’ve wanted to do one of these things for the longest time. And here it is. A writer’s life according to Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.
All they’d left were the books, dusty and stained with blood and tears.
Kyth stood among the rubble, tiny pebbles skittering around his boots in a hot wind. The sun glared from the pale, iron sky, unforgiving to any who ventured into this forgotten crevice.
Writing isn’t safe.
And it’s something I end up writing as a free verse poem around the end of last year because there was no other way to put it into words.
As writers, we suffer (or laugh) our way through a number of questions, comments, and looks.
So I decided to grace a number of questions with my own sarcastic answers.
Things I’ve been asked (in various ways):
Two weeks ago, I rode a train for the first time. Well, Amtrak. The little steam train I rode years ago doesn’t count as a ‘real’ train. It was a nine hour, overnight trip to Pittsburgh. I’ll have more to say about the trip and train in my monthly highlights post, but I did want to share one thing with you all.
I finally expermented with free verse poetry! I’ve tried my hand at free verse once or twice before, but I’ve never studied poetry and have read hardly any. Still, while looking out the window at 3:30 a.m. from the observation car, I decided to give it a go. Here is the result.