V. M. was right: I had problems with my pacing. When you’ve been writing what you wanted, as all other writers adviced, you lose sight of the important things that is taste and aroma. By aroma, I meant the lingering
Your work is not final. There was, of course, genius when you started it, and strings of word wrung straight from your heart formed verses on their own. But the dot is not the end. There should be the washing
This week grabbed me, rolled me in its palms, threw and caught me like a ping pong ball, and had me rolling down the ground, completely confused but still round and alive. I’m still ready to roll, if you’re wondering,
So here I was, a bit teary-eyed after I went out of the theater and saw a long queue waiting for their turn to watch the Guardians of the Galaxy, where [SPOILER] some important person died and the story was
I have a Tiny Letter! Please subscribe if you want me to send you (love) Letters to Strangers. I write about poems and stars and why you should keep your embers close to the heart so you will remain warm and on fire. And not alone. See you?
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