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Artist, writer, unapologetic progressive, LGBTQ+ ally
A super easy way to keep up with your old pal Katy is to subscribe to my newsletter!
Artist, writer, unapologetic progressive, LGBTQ+ ally
While editing a friend’s poem a few weeks ago, two sources of inspiration came to mind. They don’t necessarily have anything to do with the content of the poem I was working on, but sometimes things remind me of things that remind me of other things — and so on and so on.
Part of me thinks that it’s unconscionably self-indulgent to write poetry when the world is on fire… but a bigger part of me knows that keeping such things alive makes all the difference.
Creative writing is rough. It’s hard to get anyone interested enough to read what you write. And poetry especially so because so many people are afraid they won’t get it and they decide they are just “not a poetry person.”
I have imaginary conversations with other people in my head all the time, and I can hear their actual voices during their half of the dialogue, but I don’t know that everyone’s brain works that way.
I somehow got myself into a stream-of-consciousness headspace when writing this poem, and it was a strange experience to feel so disconnected from my own body as I wrote. But I think the end result is really, really good.
I probably sound like a broken record here (man, is that metaphor even relevant anymore?) but I have been having a lot of Big Feelings lately and writing about the is helping me get through them.
My relationship with my body and with food is super fucked-up. I don’t like to eat in front of other people, for fear they will realize how gross and disgusting and unlovable I am.
This short story, set in the desert southwest, is about young love, ennui, and a metaphysical experience that changes the course of the narrator’s life. I’m very proud of this story and hope you love it as much as I do.
"A full tank and nothing to do” — this line from a poem I wrote in 1994 is squeezing my heart because I can barely remember being so free of worry and responsibility like that.
Yesterday, I ran a poem idea about handwriting past Kathryn, and she intrigued me with the idea that this weird thing I'm experiencing may be tied to my synesthesia.