So what if sobriety made him coherent. His mind was a refuse bin for advertising concepts. Blasphemy, plain and simple. Although she wanted to talk about it, she wouldn’t for fear a confrontation would send him back to the gin with a virulence.
I am such a private person that as I was writing, if I had allowed myself to think about other people reading my work, I would have had to stop. But now, I just have to put that anxiety aside. And trust that baring my soul on the page is no different from doing so on stage.
“We all know what it feels like to feel like something less than what we’re supposed to be.”
“As a schoolteacher, I’m sometimes witness to teens in turmoil and to their resilience.”
by Max LoSardo Fall 2021 is a great season for Bloomers. This month we feature a diverse array of writers making their debuts in memoir, novel, and novella, all coming from different backgrounds and training. This selection shows whether it’d be serving as an activist, managing a healthcare company, or anything in between, living life …
Memory is fluid and complex and difficult to judge. I love the idea of a tapestry of memories about the same event. Somewhere, in the middle of this woven quilt of memories, is the truth. Or many, many truths.
I allowed myself to write without compartmentalizing the Chinese from the English, the Cantonese from the Mandarin, and let the sounds from other places dance and mix into the poems.