Right. Forty-one years on Earth, who knows how many more in the cosmos. In that time I’ve become, counter to popular saying, less set in my ways. Age isn’t a burden, I’ve found, it’s a release. No more confusion about…
Let’s start with Roxaboxin. Child Harbat is at the perfect age to write fiction. She hears and absorbs enough real-world information to have the good basis for a story but then mixes in her own thoughts and interpretations, sprinkles with…
Here’s my resolution, straight up and unfiltered: more better writing. I mean more in the quantity way, better in the quality way, and more better in the mo’ bettah way. First, this means an increase in frequency since, after all,…
Getting older is riding the gyre of a whirlpool. In your youth, at the far edges, motion and time are almost imperceptible. In your 20s the far edge is distant and there’s still sun over the horizon. Then as you…
Ha ha, if you didn’t already feel the cloying desperation of self-promotion from the intro page or the writing page then perhaps another splash of the book cover will catch you: I put this in because I just heard, through the…
Really, the whole thing could’ve ended much worse. An old truck, abused through decades of off-road adventures. A young, stupid, and inexperienced driver setting off across a continent that has killed many seasoned and gritty pioneers. That it ended it…