The Work-Work Balance
Every writer’s dream (and yes, I’m talking absolutes here because this is the one absolute that’s universally true, and anyone who disagrees is a fucking liar) is to write whatever they want, when they want, wherever they want.
I got a studio
There’s the you you tell yourself you are. Then there’s the you that’s just, well, you. And the me that’s me wanted a writing studio. So, she got one.
Note from 2022 Karen: The post that went out this morning was written 10 years ago and languished in my drafts. Until now. Because I’d scheduled it to post 10 years into the future as I was workshopping it, then forgot about it entirely and posted a different one. I’m leaving it up anyway because…
I, Writer Of No Import With Things To Say, think it’s high time I share my benchmarks for success.
Not A Writer, Not Yet Not A Writer
Not A Writer, Not Yet Not A Writer Asks: How do you make a living as a writer? Buckle up, friend. The answer is quite long.
The Conversations I Never Have
‘Twas the season indeed. There was tinsel. Presents. The ability to listen to *NSYNC’s Christmas album—arguably their best and most amazing work, ever (I mean, who could forget JC’s “O Holy Night”? Lance’s super deep and perfect “YOU” when he sang “The only gift I wanted was you”? And the sexual undertones and overtones of…
Whenever Franco and I come home, people want to give us things.
A Mosh Pit Full of Fist Pumps Episode II
2015 was such a whirlwind. A blur. A ride. An adventure. A spectacle. A blast. A rollercoaster. A peanut. Crap, I lost it. Let’s just say, a lot of stuff happened.
I got yelled at. I’d been back in New York for good, or at least as long as “for good” can be guaranteed by someone who moves a lot, for barely 20 minutes. And I got yelled at.