The problem with living an interesting life surrounded by interesting people is that you’re constantly inspired but can never write anything for fear of insulting someone…



I find that just sitting and listening to music is one of the best ways to get inspired. I like listening to instrumental movie soundtracks to pump up my muse and get her ready for the next writing session. If you are interested in listening along, I have put together a Writerly Concerns playlist on Spotify. Come be inspired!



Good writers are good readers.

I never believed in this sentiment. I thought that any story worth telling would pour out of you, unhindered and unadulterated by the influence of others. Until now. Thanks to a fairly intense editing class, I have been force fed an abundance of short stories by American greats, analyzing them to death in quick succession and without time to pause for breath.

I have also started writing short stories, coming out of a year-long writers’ block by breaking into a format I had not seriously attempted before. Coincidence? I think not…


There is always something extremely lonely about the feeling of inspiration. When the puzzle pieces finally fit Ā together, when itĀ clicks, when the shadowy, tenuous plot holes are suddenly stitched up with a glorious, glowing thread … No one but the author can truly understand how perfect and complete that moment is.


hiraeth (Welsh, n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

Have you ever wanted to write an entire novel based on a single definition?


Still trying to come up with the perfect formula for an inspired writing session. I’m curious for feedback:

Do you prefer to carve out a tight hour or two in a busy schedule? Is it more helpful to have an entire lazy weekend in which to write several languid sentences? At this point I’m willing to try anything . . .


Today my older cousin had a baby. What a contribution to the world – a brand new human being, a soul, a real liveĀ person. Nothing I could ever write – no matter how brilliant – could compete with that kind of pure, sacred creation.


When I idolize those authors who became famous through their works, when people in my life insist upon predicting my own fame, it is easy to lose sight of the goal. Today I shook myself free of the burden of needing to become famous. Ultimately, I need to be writing for passion, for me. Fame, posthumous notability, the opinions of others must all be secondary.