Tag: poetry
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On poetry, or, a story of how I fell in love with myself again
I am still learning, and living, and loving, and, more often than not, coping.
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we’re here.
Originally posted on roam: If two roads diverged in a yellow wood, ideally, you’d be traveling in pairs. Someone could take one, someone the other, and you could meet back and report what each road was like. Or maybe you’re wandering through the woods in groups of three, or seven,…
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…Like a Patient Etherized Upon a Table
Let’s get something straight. I write fiction. Fiction is what I do. Novels, short stories, flash fiction, non-fiction (it made me crazy, but I did it). But every now and then, when the moon is at its apex in the eastern sky and the crickets are singing and there’s beer…
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NEAT. Submissions!
Would just like to remind everyone that NEAT. is still open for submissions until October 31. We’re looking for endings — or beginnings that come from endings. A little Halloween horror, a little sci-fi, a little whatever-the-heck-you-want-to-write. We want to read it. :) We’re accepting fiction, poetry, non-fiction, and photography.…
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The first issue of NEAT. is now live!
Hellooooo all of my beautiful followers. I promised you yesterday that I would have news about NEAT. Well, lo and behold, we are LIVE. NEAT. started as a conversation in the beginning of July between myself and my friend TM Keesling. We asked each other: How can we create something…
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After a Hiatus, I Present to You . . .
I would like you all to know that I haven’t died. Yay, right? I took a long break to go on vacation with Husband and do fun things like mountain biking and hiking and all sorts of other things that end with “-ing.” Also did quite a bit of writing,…
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[Insert Pinocchio voice here] “I’m a real boy!”
Well folks, as of today, I am a published writer! The lovely folks over at Burningword Literary Journal have seen fit to give two of my poems a home in their July 1 issue. I literally squealed when I opened the email. Part of my excitement comes from the fact…
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Poem: I Haven’t Slept in Days
I wrote this poem a few months ago and I don’t know what to do with it. So I will leave it here for now. I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN DAYS It is the kind of winter where hands bleed from proximity to the radiator, positioned at ten and two as…
Liz Cultivates | L.M. Fern 