Rejection’s never easy, and I wish I could tell you how to do a better job of handling it. As it is, I can only share with you what I’ve learned, from far too many letters, and too much anger that’s accompanied them.

I put this out there for the writers, not the ones who’ve succeeded, but the ones who think they’ve failed. The ones who’ve taken their rejections to heart, as I have. I write, not because I pride myself on knowing the way, but because I’m as lost and frustrated as you are.

And this is what I’ve…

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And I’m sick and tired of you pretending it isn’t.

We live in an age where teachers claim to encourage “the arts”. We live in an age where we’re told more and more to re-discover the child within and indulge our creativity. We live in an age where people can make a living out of vlogging, playing games online and shooting amazing pictures — something that wouldn’t have been possible 100 years ago.

And then, how is it that in this age of marvels, artists are still getting the sticky end of the lollipop?

Throughout history, actors and playwrights and…

I’ve never been a Matthew McConaughey fan. That’s not to say I had anything against him, in particular. I liked him in the movies I saw him in, but wouldn’t go out of my way to see him. That being the case, I was ambivalent when I first heard about his brand new memoir “Greenlights”.

But when I kept catching him on all my favorite podcasts, eventually I decided to interpret it as a sign, especially as I’d just finished my previous read.

“Greenlights” was, for me, a 2 day read, and might’ve even been a one-sitting read, had I…

‘Honey, it works in books, it’s a nice story and all, but it just ain’t real.’

I was trying to get it out of my friend’s head that the jackass she was seeing was a diamond in the rough. I don’t know him, but I was quite skeptical to the idea. He could just be a jackass, but we never want to admit that, do we? We’re not content to see that and move on.
There are thousands of women on this planet who make it their life’s mission to save some poor innocent.

‘Oh, but he’s afraid to love’…

She called it the black butterfly.

It was a little metal box that Uncle Jack had given her once, when she was five or six, she couldn’t really remember. It had been a present for no real reason. Uncle Jack never needed a reason to give people things. He was always coming up to the house with boxes — bigger and smaller boxes, some butterfly shaped, others not — and saying things like ‘here, you want it?’. And the children always wanted it, not just because they didn’t get many presents otherwise, but because everything that came from Uncle Jack…

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I don’t actually know how I became a scribbler.

I remember several years ago, I was doing an online creative writing course and they kept saying how important it is to keep a journal of some kind. A notebook, preferably a cutesy one with smart sayings and quotes on. I mean, if you don’t like the look of the damn thing, how are you ever going to bring yourself to carry it everywhere (and gasp even write in it?).
So, I got a notebook. …

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He knew the messages wouldn’t help, but words were all he knew and right now, they were like a warm water bottle in the middle of winter, a comfort of sorts, though not the thing he needed. How could they ever be the thing he needed? How could anything, when he knew all too well that that would never come around again? He’d be stuck with luke-warm water bottles all his life.

Sink or swim.

His mother had taught him that right before she found that bit of old rope in the basement one day and went and hung herself…


We’ve been here so many times, baby, and I feel…I feel we’re gonna be here a lot more times before this is over, ain’t we? You draw me in and then you spit me out and I’m a little more broken and a little more lost each time. And each time, I come back to you, my kerosene. Your claws grow deep, piercing until I don’t know no more where you end and I begin. And I’m afraid. So afraid, baby, that I’ll pull away one day, but your claws will be too deep and all that’ll be left will…

Listen. Be still.

Do you feel it?

Something stirs within you. A need, a want, a sense of desiring something. Or someplace.


Of course, not all call it that, although I think it’s one of the most beautiful terms I’ve ever heard. But there are others. In Romania, we call it dor de ducă, which is a bit hard to translate. A longing to be gone, only ten times more poetic. In Germany, it’s apparently called sehnsucht. …

Honey Due

Honey Due is a young author who lives hidden away behind a keyboard of sorts. She occasionally peeks out but usually lets her characters wander for her.

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