Perhaps it was the springtime pagan fertility vibes of Easter. Perhaps it was the beginning of a new month. Perhaps it was because April is National Poetry Month. Perhaps it was the odd coincidence that on Sunday (3/31) I used up the very last page in my writing journal – which, when I looked back,…
Category: Writing
Free-ish Association: A Different Type of Practice
Inspired by the prose poems I’ve been reading, I’ve decided to try my hand at free association writing – or something approaching that. This, for me, is yet another attempt at ceding control; another attempt at trying to tap into the raw material of the present moment; another attempt to break down the barriers between…
Reading Poetry (Again)
I’ve been reading poetry again. Reading poetry always sets my mind abuzz about words and purpose and human connection and stories. I’m not sure if it was intentional, but the last few books that I’ve leaned into (My Private Property by Mary Ruefle, Death Prefers the Minor Keys by Sean Thomas Dougherty, and Winter’s Journey…
Read This First: Caveats and Qualifiers
Hey there!
Welcome to TurtleSloth.
Before you come in, I’m going to ask that you take off your shoes and obey all posted signs and placards – by which I mean check your assumptions at the door, but more importantly…
Stymied
I’m stymied. I’ve been writing a lot and getting nowhere fast. As of this very moment (not including this blog post), I’ve written close to 4,000 words spread out across three different draft blog posts. One is about the mental anguish I feel over not being disciplined enough (or perhaps capable enough) to sustain long-form…
Mending and Moral Masochism
The morning sky is bright but gray. The sun tries to peak through the drifting clouds. It’s going to rain (maybe). It’s been raining (maybe). Because of the hills and the ocean and the bay and the mountains, the Bay Area’s weather is predictably unpredictable. Yesterday, as I sat by Crissy Field Beach (the beach…
Two Poems, a Burglar, an Archeologist, and an Examination that Spun Wildly Out of Control
There are moments when my thinking is either too fast or too multifaceted for me to catch up with it or wrestle it to the ground. In this type of sense-making process, it feels like a masked and comical burglar ran off with my brain in a satchel and I’m giving chase. In those moments,…
Ungodly Early and Out of Practice
It’s 5:30 am. It’s still dark out. For no reason in particular, I’ve been up since 3:30. Unable to fall back asleep, I scrolled whatever it is that I scroll on my phone for an hour. Unable to fall back asleep, I got up. I turned on the dim overhead light. I sat at the…
One Year, Fifty-Two Words a Day
18,982 words – give or take. For a year I’ve tried this small artistic and mindful practice of writing fifty-two words every day. The math says I should have written 18,980 words, but I know I had at least one day where I snuck in two extra words (I was making references to a deck…
Daily Fifty-Two: Sept. 6, 2023
Orange mug, apple green plate with brush-stroke swirls, a silver knife with a yellow-white cloud of butter. So often, despite their vibrancy, the morning colors go sleepily unnoticed. The prints on the walls show still lifes by Cezanne. Out of the thousands of words I choose fifty-two. Only one is required: attention.
Daily Fifty-Two: Sept. 5, 2023
Huddled in a faded yellow bowl, six nectarines sleep. It’s early, even for them. Awake, what might they whisper? Do they blush? Do they admire each other’s colors: soft yellows and shades of red like cardinal and carmine, rusty and rosewood? Do they call each other sweetie or say, “you look delicious?”
Daily Fifty-Two: Sept. 4, 2023
It’s evening and the shades are pulled. I see reflected in the sleek, black glass of the upturned phone, the concentric circles of the ac vent. The lampshade casts a flashlight glow on the ceiling. I misread a book title as “Dialogues with Cloudbursts.” I like that. We could use the rain.