Monday, January 3, 2011



…I have a new story, "Compass" up at Berg Gasse 19 and an interview about my story "Free" up at Twentysix. Both are also here under "Words In Print."

…It is cold here and I don't like it. Part of the lake is even froze over. But what's a boy to do? Oh, yeah, go to Hawaii. That's what I'm doing next week. Just decided on the spur of the moment.

…I spent the last few days combing through a book that is supposed to help writers find an agent. This book is a tome. Today I will finish reading the listing part, polish up a query letter, and begin solicitation.

…I had a productive day in the bathtub yesterday. Wrote a story. Finished my 2011 New Year's Resolutions. And after I dried off I learned I had a story accepted.

…A few postings ago, I mentioned that I'm reading "A Lifetime of Secrets," the latest book from Frank Warren and Co., the people behind Post Secret whereby people anonymously send in their deepest secret. Here are some (Warning-they're pretty gut-wrenching):

I'm trying so hard to remember that life is beautiful.

I only allow myself to read your letters once a year (9/17). Then, I let myself fantasize how my life would be different if you were still around. Sometimes I find myself hating you because it's easier than missing you.

When I was younger, I used to write letters to imaginary men ending affairs that never happened. I would address them to "resident" and mail them out to addresses I picked at random.

I don't make the bed after you leave, so that when I look at it, I feel the thrill of knowing how it got that way.

I used to pray my parents would get divorced, not because they weren't in love, but because all the cool kids had divorced parents.

I suffer from depression but I'm afraid to tell my mother because she'll be disappointed not have a perfect daughter.

I want to meet someone who will still love me after they know my secrets.

I destroy videos of myself as a child because it pains me to see a time before I ruined my innocence.

When I was fourteen someone told me: I'm excited about your life. Thank you. Those words have stuck with me. They keep me going. I won't disappoint you and I keep passing them onto others.

My best friend slept with the only man I ever loved. Their son is now in college. I still drive by their house.

Thirty years ago I stole the pillowcase we shared, and have kept it unwashed ever since.

I imagine dying with you every night when we sleep.

Everyone thinks we adopted because I'm infertile. The truth is, I'm frigid.

I aborted the baby you never knew about. Sometimes I want to tell you. But I doubt you would even care.

It seems like just yesterday she was born. She'll be 17 on Saturday. I am no where close to being ready to let go.

I still wonder how different my life would be if I had taken that sunrise walk with you.

I stopped wearing panties to the office. Work has never felt so refreshing.

I still remember my rapist's birthday.

Out of all the students who tried out for 5th grade choir, I was the only one who did not make it. It is my first real memory of shame. It seems like it should be a small and distant memory but I still won't sing, even in the shower.

I'm secretly learning how to play the guitar just so I can write our own personal love song.

I am pawning my wedding rings to pay for therapy.

1 comment:

  1. This post is so raw. I need to get this book. Thanks for sharing. The honesty and total abandon in these words make me simultaneously reach out and draw back.

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