I’m a big believer in projects. A project really is a challenge to yourself, a record of all of your attempts at solving that challenge, and, hopefully, a solution.
Here’s a simple project. Write a poem each day for two weeks . . .
Preface/disclaimer/warning: I was young, eighteen, and generally terrified of life.
These are the days that I sketch
and shelve in my head,
the days I can trace a line
around earth and sky, green and blue,
the toy farm house at the side
the plastic animals . . .
Tell us about yourself.
I’m here. I’m known for writing poetry and fiction, but I have an active, if somewhat secret, non-fiction life. The notebook beside my bed is full of dreams. I record the events of each day on a calendar . . .
Lights fade in, curtains open. Olivia, a six-year-old little girl with pigtails and large brown eyes, is sitting in her counsellor’s room. She is wearing a pink dress and sits cross-legged on a sofa as she anxiously looks at her counsellor. . . .