Writing workshop, interrupted

I had a workshop on smell planned for this week. Unfortunately, everyone who signed up canceled at the last minute. Those are just the risks involved when you’re the organizer.

At least I got to write something while I waited for people to show up. So, no workshop this week, but here are the results of me with time to think. Continue reading


White blossoms

I don’t know what to tell you of white spring blossoms.

The way they intoxicate me

and how, drunk in aroma,

I tilt my nose ever so slightly towards the laden trees.

The sight of them causes

a faint smile that appears and is gone again

as quick as those insignificant buds last after they’ve bloomed.

But nothing is ever quite gone, is it?

When writer’s block happens

When I feel like I have exhausted the language quota given to me. As if words were rationed out and some get more than others, while those, like me, get less. When I’m paralyzed by my own expectations for success and failure simultaneously. I get low and no one knows, but it was all okay because I could write about it—except now I can’t. The problem is I’m afraid to get high. It’s not about losing control. It’s about realizing I had no control to begin with.

If you left now

If you left now, the pieces would go…everywhere. After years of refusing to lean on anyone for too long, you’ve refused to let go, even when I’m pushing at you with the blunt end of a knife, the sharp end pointed towards me.

I worry sometimes if, without you, my sanity would cling. I worry more if, with you, my insanity will grow and overtake you.

Strong hands and I caress the tender blue rivers crisscrossing your skin. Gentle eyes that burn low but intense. During those times when the banality of my life excruciates me, your touch reminds me who I am.

I am we.


I want to get these awful thoughts out of my head. But I have always feared that to put them into words on paper—it will release them out into the world like spores breeding destruction. What if they realize, come to find their way back to me? And I end up sitting alone and unwanted just as the characters in my head.


Summer didn’t stay long. It figures, she thought, just as I was getting comfortable wearing flip flops, I gotta start wearing rain boots. Autumn’s always been my favorite season anyway. It never got old to feel that satisfying crunch of dead leaves. The worst was when you thought you saw a real crunchy one. You walk up to it, anticipation growing. You let your foot hover over the big oak leaf as if to hear its final request before meeting oblivion. Finally the foot drops and…nothing. A soggy leaf masquerading as a cruncher. The worst.

Her thoughts wander back to the leaf fight of her life. Heart pumping and soul levitating, she sprinted and dodged with so much abandon you’d think she was the leaf being hurled into the air. Dry leaves would explode in an array of reds and yellows against grey skies. Even when rain-soggy leaves hit her with a wet smack on the cheek, she laughed open-mouthed. She missed being silly and not…thinking.