Me, after coming signing on to Tumblr for the first time in months
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"What the fuck is this?"
PHASE II: TIRES N GAS N MOTEL
An update for anyone who has been following the ‘Grace needs to fix her car’ situation:
After selling our CDs/DVDs/games/books, and donations, it got fixed!!!
(Thank you to everyone that donated or reblogged the post).
We still have to buy new tires and gas and motel money before August 14th and I hope that you all can help us again by donating or reblogging.
$5 donations will get you a line art inspired by an album or artist of your choosing.
$15 donations will get you an acrylic painting.
Every donation will get you our eternal gratitude for helping my lil sis drive back to school safely!!!
THE TIRES ARE GOING TO BE $585 reblogs and donations would be a huge help!
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"I knew I was a bastard but forgave myself because, after all, I was a born bastard – a talented one whose sole obligation was to his talent."
Truman Capote, Answered Prayers
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"I’m up to my ears in unwritten words."
J.D. Salinger, “Letter to Jean Miller”
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"I try to remember that to sit down and write is a gift. That if I do not seize this day, it will be lost. I think of writers I admire who are no longer living. I’m aware that the simple fact of being here creates a kind of responsibility, even a moral one, to get to work."
Dani Shapiro, Still Writing
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"Maybe they had no faith, Tom thought. Maybe they were like me, always expecting disaster, surprised only when it doesn’t hit. Maybe we are all, the killers and the killed, equally damned; not guilty, not somehow made wise by war, not heroes, just men who are either dead or convinced that the world is insane."
Sloan Wilson, “The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit”
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The One Time I Regretted It, And the Six Times I Didn’t:
A Story of Folk Duos, New England and Life as William Miller
Much like a young girl with her diary, I feel almost obligated to apologize for my absence from blogging. I mean, I just typed “sorry it’s been a while” before hastily erasing it; I too easily imagined it written by an eight year old me with a purple gel pen in her hand. The reality is, it’s okay not to reminisce or reflect for a little while. It might even put things in perspective.
The last time I wrote, I was someone else. At least, it seems that way. I had just moved out of my parent’s house and was living in a third-floor apartment. I had started a new business, doubling as a writer by night and an RA at the local nursing home by day. I didn’t listen to Simon & Garfunkel much. Maybe it was difficult, in a way. There were memories attached and I was moving forward.
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