Category: Writing Life

Our Writing Life column archive, which features an array of guest contributors.

The Writing Life: Writing is simple; all you have to do is sit at a typewriter and bleed by William Henderson

Someone once said that writers write the stories that they badly want to read. These stories that writers write in order to read the stories they badly want to read are the stories that writers remember. Sometimes the words are overwhelming, if only because they often live inside for so long. These words become memories of events that have or haven’t happened, depending on the writer’s genre: nonfiction or fiction. These memories – our memories – inform who we are and what we do.

The Writing Life: A Life in Libraries by Hilary Meyerson

inside of library with book shelves close up looking down a hallway

In the story of my life, libraries have been the setting. The answers I sought have always been found there, whether I was delving into Yeats’ symbolism or a breastfeeding dilemma. However, it was the question, “What shall I do with my life?” that somehow eluded me for so long. The answer was of course, at the library. I didn’t just want to read the books there – I wanted to write one, to make my own contribution to the catalog.

The Writing Life: My Writing Life by mensah demary

coffee lit cigarette and book on dark background to signify early morning

I reject the phrase, “the writing life.” I am also a hypocrite because, on occasion, I use the phrase “the writing life” as a catch-all to describe my life as a writer. It’s a poor excuse for a catch-all, the phrase. It attempts to lump all writers into a monolithic construct–a box, I mean–as though all writers write the same words, or write with the same style, or perceive the world through the same eyes.

Bone Tattoos: Writing Lake Eola by Lisa Ahn

Lake Eola Park, in the center of Orlando – a world away from cartoon Disney – makes me wish that I could draw. Some places demand the bold strokes of acrylic, the definitives of ink, the texturized weight of Bristol paper. Nothing but a painter’s hand, a drafter’s arm will do. The precise skills I am lacking.