Then the Rain Falls

Tonight, it’s raining. It’s 8:00 PM, and the rain woke me up from a nap I started when work was over because I couldn’t sleep last night. Last night, I poured a glass of bourbon and started writing to you on the old typewriter I keep in the apartment for my drunk friends to type…

Writing and Drinking Whiskey in the Forest

I have been back from the mountains for two or three weeks now. It’s hard to tell, really. The summer days all tend to run together. But still, on June 13, I packed my shit up and headed west toward the Blue Ridge Mountains. Earlier this year, I applied for a residency in those mountains…

Write Your Shit

Now he would never write the things that he had saved to write until he knew enough to write them well. Well, he would not have to fail at trying to write them either. Maybe you could never write them, and that was why you put them off and delayed the starting. Well he would…

The Audacity of Creativity

I’ve thought a lot about creativity for the last several months–where it comes from, where it goes when it’s gone, why it goes. A while ago, I wrote about inspiration and how waiting for inspiration is a exercise in futility. You have to park your ass in that seat and write–or in or in front…

But Still I Go

I’ve decided it’s time for more honesty here. I’ve had moments where I was able to really dig in, but for one reason or another, Virtual Napkins has always been a carefully curated collection of stories. Now, though, for my own self-journey, it’s going to get a little more real and a little less selective.…

On Endings

The first thing we need you to do, Mr. Barish, is to go home and collect everything you own that has some association with Clementine. Anything. We’ll use these items to create a map of Clementine in your brain. So we’ll need photos, clothing, gifts, books she may have bought you, CDs you may have…

From the Internet Graveyard #2: Nora

Note: This story first appeared on My Muted Voice, a now vacant piece of Internet property. Here, it is preserved in its original form. There is a sketch in an old journal from years ago of a fortress—a place for keeping secrets and acting out. I drew that fortress when Nora started coming around. When…