A few weeks ago, Vol1. Brooklyn ran an essay I wrote, about being creative despite all the stuff that the world does to try to stop you from being creative.
Check it out here if that sounds like something you’d like to read.
“Today I opened my PO box and there was a shipping envelope stuffed in there, crushing my other mail. It was a paperback book I’d been waiting for, like a 7 year old would wait for Christmas morning. I tore the envelope out, ripped the packaging apart, and stared at my book through the bubblewrap for the first time.
It’s a proof copy, for a collection of stories that is never going to be released. I’ll read them here in NYC from time to time. Some stories might make it into real books that get published by real humans that aren’t me and don’t live here in apartment 12, other stories will only be in this proof copy, typos and all, and will die in it.”