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The cool, dry air pays a visit like an old friend. My skin is glowing but my eyes are tearing.
a short prose poem in the fall issue of Unbroken Journal. It is ominous, as most writing is these days. Someone asks me, “What do you write?” I freeze. You’d think I’d be able to answer this by now.
I finished writing a story told in fragments. It features potions and a garden. My stories always seem to feature a garden.
I finished reading
Cruddy by Lynda Barry. Brutal and beautiful. I wrote a micro review about it. Easily one of my favorite reads this year. I’ve updated
my list of literary journals for LGBTQ writers, women, and writers of color. People still seem to use it as a resource and I’m glad it’s been so helpful. Unfortunately, I’ve had to remove quite a few journals that have gone defunct or no longer appear online. I’m getting married soon. Since there’s no bride, we’ve had to write a ceremony ourselves. There are no real traditions to inherit yet, no set rules. We are setting them down. I should write about this eventually.
The cool spell will be gone tomorrow, I’m sure.