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When I’m in love, I don’t want to write stories about love. I’m scared that admitting it out loud will be the force that slashes it in half.

Darcy and Elizabeth. Romeo and Juliet. Cathy and Heathcliff. Jane and Rochester. These famous literary couples get all the attention,

I hate Valentine’s Day. The wordsmith in me can’t stand the loved filled, red holiday. You know the part of me that talks of dead writers,

The phrase “writing is rewriting” has been uttered by the lips of a multitude of writers. Nonwriters do not know this.

There is an unanswered, difficult question that all readers must face in their literary life.

The new year, 2020, is here. Let us all look back on the past and think of what could have been.

There is nothing like timing. I came up with a great Christmas post for you to read.

Christmas is the time of the year when the roads are too icy, people’s interest in reindeers skyrocket, and sweaters are worn ironically.

I know right? That Edgar Allan Poe. The one whose works are so strange, you can’t help but think he was a little off when he wrote.