women in literary arts

We’re lucky to be writers. Nobody owes us anything.

by patti smith

He screamed, ‘Nooooo!’ he screamed. His life was flashing before he even had time to think about what he had done with his life was flashing before his eyes filled with tears of regretted so many things he regretted in his life was flashing before his eyes had time to close his eyes filled with tears in his eyes closed.

It was one year ago this week that I implored Elissa Bassist to write like a motherfucker. That so many others took up the writing like a motherfucker call—even those who are not writers—speaks to an essential fact about art making and love making and life making: to do it well, to do it right, to do it like you won’t be sorry later, you must live out your truth.

BREAKUP STORIES
by Jonathan Franzen