The Beast With a Billion Boxes

Moving is a lot like going to therapy. Packing your belongings requires you to go though not just your physical stuff, but your psychological stuff, too. You have to sort through the things you’ve accumulated over the years — the memories and knick-knacks alike. I’ve only been packing for a few days, but already I’veContinue reading “The Beast With a Billion Boxes”

Brushstrokes

Before last week, the last time I attempted to paint was more than ten years ago. I was a lonely middle schooler who refused haircuts and I thought I was an artist. I dabbled in words, graphite, clay and paint in a desperate attempt to express myself. It was only after a few ruined canvasesContinue reading “Brushstrokes”

A Writer’s Identity

What makes me a writer? Is it the physical act of my fingertips hitting the keys in new combinations? Is it my pathological desire to collect and disseminate stories? Is it my tendency to stretch the truth in order to make it funnier or more dramatic? Is it the fact that I agonize over everyContinue reading “A Writer’s Identity”