A Pen's G-Spot

As much as we want to believe that writing is our imagination on paper, it boils down to the approval of others for publication and reading. Sure, if writing was what it once was --storytelling-- then panic attacks wouldn't be a problem, control would stay in our hands and only our hands, and maybe we wouldn't suffer like Alice. Alice, in Alice in Reality , lost control. She let the stress chip away until her addiction --escape method-- resurfaced. Drowning in her darkness. But there's hope! Not everyone has to become a teenage girl with weed for fingers and booze for hands. While writing especially, it's key to have fun and enjoy or else there's no point in calling this an art. So, here is my cheat sheet. Five things to do when hell is freezing over. 1. Light Inscents Editing can be one of the toughest things during a writing process especially when the edits are developmental. To this day, I refused to cut the micro-chapter in Alice simply because that scene ...

As my Wednesdays go by, I keep my work flowing with workshops and to assure you I'm busy, here are some samples. The water reflected a blazing fire of anger the sky radiated. Only the sky held the words she shouted but the sun was already disappearing meaning her words would die with the cloud cover. He stood behind her with his feet rooted in the soil but body swinging like loose teeth in a mouth of a six year old. The growing redder sun oozed into the earth around him while the dark clouds danced around her. She would leave but she was hoping for a savior like the sun does everyday from falling but the more she stood, the more she understood she was melting away as the darkness overcame. She would run away and hide her rosy cheeks from seeming so foolish in believe he would really turn her around but no matter where see went, the ticking clock of indigo would follow and so would her words until they vanished in the purple peaks. The sand under him was compressing –moving...

"Hi I'm Anastasia, and I have depression." Why? You have everything. You don't look sad. Oh, do you need sugar? Is there a cream for that? What is depression? I like to think it's different for everyone. For me, it's like watching someone go crazy, someone who suddenly falls into trances of hate and shuts out the world but that someone is me. I understand what I'm doing, I understand I shouldn't yell at my mother when she offers me some food but I can't control it. I shouldn't think about how high of a jump would only hurt me but every time I look out of a window, I can't stop envisioning myself flying. It has been almost a year since I self-harmed. And I truly want to be better. He tells me "I hate it when you're like this" but I can't stop myself. Tentacles cover my eyes as something pierces my mind injecting it with poison.  I do not wish this on anyone. Never. I refuse to watch others suffer. And that...

I am a burrito, a burrito of sadness wrapped in my own pity as it pours. Actually I'm wrapped in a big blanket hissing at the water that keeps seeping through the doors. Despite the high mountains, I feel as if Pangea is her revenge and flooding our cities. Literal rivers keep running through the streets --rapids bad enough to erode schools and leave policemen directing traffic. It's nice to finally have a day in with my father teaching me Russian secrets but let me start from the beginning of this three-day inland hurricane. Day one. The onset was sudden. The clouds started brewing with the wheels in my head started turning. I think I figured out how to help people and help myself. I had a guest appearance at a suicide prevention club, at least I thought, and my anxiety was making it hard to hold pens. Shaking nonstop but that was only the subtle beginning of the storm. In the club, I managed to have an anxiety attack. The teacher who asked me to speak was late and the clu...

Since we just recently made ourselves a couple and you raped my freedom, I keep asking --why on Earth did I agree? 1. Four days before our first --going to Sonic because my navigation lied about Jamba Juice's whereabout 3. Sitting outside a bakery as it started to drizzle 5. Neglecting the fact that your father was waiting for you, we got honked at as we kissed. 11. Managed to turn into almost ten back-to-back a. Blushing as I tried to dance after six months hiding in my house d. Racing past my best friend as I continued screaming to make you go faster f. After getting dared, I pulled down your pants with my teeth... and your boxers. i. You actually made me believe that there was a Greek God named Pointius. 19. I still haven't saved your name in my phone. That happened four months after our first date. I was stupid enough to add an emoticon so now, I unconditionally smile when you text me. 27. Twenty minute discussion before yoga on whether 'the' or 'a...

Labor day is meant for people to rest and spend time with their family. My labor day consisted of me working on the thing I truly love --writing. Finally, I replenished my submissions with a poetry chapbook and past site that rejected me with secondary rejections. One site, Literary Orphans, has me stumped. They are offering submissions for their superhero issue. I remember being little hoping for a hero --a boy to save me, a wizard to take me around the world, and a woman flying round the city. I realized not too long ago that heros really do exist but not in masks or capes but on Instagram and math class. Milk Tyson, of Instagram and twitter, is a real world hero. He offers help to those suffering of anxiety because he himself suffered with it. He hands out his email for people to tell him their story. I would know because I recently had to approach him. My anxiety is getting out of hand as I was too anxious to open my love's door. I stood outside staring at the very knob I tur...