If it makes sense in your head, why doesn’t it sound the same when you write?
Translating thoughts and ideas to paper (or in the modern world, the Google Doc) is easier said than done. I write often and I appreciate the help of these 5 tools. Even if writing is not your profession, I’m certain you will enjoy using many of these apps.
We all write emails, texts, and facebook messages, after all.
Oh, did I mention they’re all free?
Emails that get read and responded to? Must be magic.
This might be my favorite on the list because…
The first thing I noticed when I found her channel is that she has 4 million subscribers and about 1 million people that watch each one of her videos.
She is wildly popular for a few reasons: she is warm, personable, and takes breathtaking cinematic shots of Northern sweden. She lives in a place where, for a few weeks of the year, the sun doesn’t rise above the horizon.
She documents all of it. The snow, the darkness, the Aurora, and the coming of Spring, summer, and her life as a jewelry maker, painter, and filmmaker.
Objectively, her life is…
I hope things improve. The last 6 months have been discouraging. I used to LOVE medium and even built a course around it, am basically your #1 fan, until the last half of a year. I got my name out there as a writer and it gave me so much confidence.
Today, I don't even know where I belong. I hope Medium comes back to 2018 times ASAP.
As you’re probably aware, views are down across Medium.
I’m in that camp.
And I have to say — it’s extremely demotivating.
I used to get at least hundreds or thousands of views on my work.
Now, even getting published in P.S I Love You doesn’t help me out.
My poems there are getting 70 views. Over 4 weeks.
Yes you read that right.
That’s pretty bad.
And so here we are. If no one sees my work, did it ever even exist?
For context, here are my views over the years.
at home, there are journals and scrapbooks from years gone past
pages filled full of coloured hand scratch
changing each line with the smudge of the pen
names of boys, sometimes girls; some of them friends
at home, there are stories, hand-holds, and adventures forgotten
there’s a long winding driveway and a gravel grass path
there’s a sprinkler running to save the dry grass
there’s a bedroom unchanged, walls slanted and dark
still a tiny door that squeaks when you start
at home, there are bits and pieces of living once lived
paintings and sculptures hand-made at one time
artifacts representing both…
I like feeling good. Powerful. Spiritual. Free.
I don’t like feeling small. Nor suffering. Nor feeling hurt, empty or bored.
I’d really just rather not.
If I feel some less than pleasant feelings showing their faces ‘round these parts— despite doing a lot of work to acknowledge them, accept them, and let them be — I STILL to this DAY resist the heck out of them.
Then I do an extra-meta thing and I feel sad about feeling sad, or I feel shame about feeling sad. Welcome to being a Millennial, lol.
If you’re not a Millennial and you’re reading…
“On average, 5x as many people read the headline as read the body copy. When you’ve written your headline, you’ve spent eighty cents out of your dollar.” — Coschedule.com
Experimenting with headlines in my head helps me determine the angle of what I’m writing well before I sit down to write it.
I ask myself:
As Writers, we are in a…
Did you catch the Tswift reference above? If you got it, we’re both knee deep in the new album.
Now, for a *hot* minute, let’s talk about 2020. Christ, I know. Everyone is on social media discussing their year in review, and I hate to add to that, but, well…I’m about to.
(Yes, another TSwift reference).
I started the year in a breakup with someone I still saw at work daily, a trip to Los Angeles, a reconnection with that partner, a month together, another 1:30AM breakup, and then….a lockdown. It almost feels like the space before March 19th 2020…
Dear last year lover,
I know you, you’re like this.
You’re excited by nice things
Is it their energy you need?
Their heart to fill your holes?
Their innocence to replace what was ripped away?
Last year’s vibration — was it mine or yours?
When we collided, who spoke first?
Who broke first?
That night in December we went to a comedy show, we laughed. You wore that purple v neck shirt and we drove home. We played some piano, then you cried. You cried hard. Not saying much about why. But the words you spoke…
Thankfully, sex is his second language.
He listens and looks, before he touches and licks.
That’s unlike the others — many of them.
The last spoke skin to skin. Hand in hand, chest on chest.
Without contact, he froze. Paralyzed by communication, he stared. And all there was was silence.
During sex, he’d speak to me. He’d ask me to tell him things, he’d say things and I’d say them back, grateful for an opportunity to hear him. To have him hear me.
Was he listening?
But when it was important, our clothes were on, and I had a question…
I write about relationships, self-development, growth (& sometimes writing, how meta). Canadian. @juliarosewrites