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. A poet looking at the sky at night, a boxer looking for his next fight; a starlet looking at her own face, a padre looking for a state of grace. . In a village in Sudan, a young girl is raped for being the wrong ethnicity. . A model looking at her trending style, a mother looking for her baby’s smile; a banker looking at a higher gain, a farmer looking for a sign of rain. . In a squalid flat in London, an old lady dies of neglect while the TV hums downstairs. .

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My bestie, before I lost him. Look at the respectful hover-hand. Bless. Trust me when I say I’m not starting a pity party here, but I’m going to take you back to a truly awful day in my life. There’s a reason, so bear with. Let me set the scene: my utterly adored husband has passed away, and with him has gone my home, my way of life, and my financial support. I’ve had to start again from scratch. And as a disabled woman approaching sixty, that isn’t a bag of laughs.

A job search may not seem like a writing exercise at first. You look for opportunities, send applications, attend interviews, and wait for responses. But somewhere between finding a position and actually applying, you end up writing far more than you might expect. It starts with how you look for opportunities. You might scroll through a job board, save a few positions, and then realize that each one asks you to describe your experience in a slightly different way.

A garden path sentence is the literary equivalent of a close-up magician’s sleight-of-hand. For writers with sense of whimsical fun, a well-crafted garden-path sentence can mean the difference between misdirecting the reader, and the reader reading the misdirection. You are initially led to interpret a sentence one way, only to find out that the interpretation is wrong. You must then mentally retrace your steps, like someone who has been led up the garden path.

Rehomed for your convenience Image by David Clode on Unsplash Sharks. Actually, I don’t know how to start this one. The Brief is from Wyatt. Wyatt works for the Queensland Tourism Board. Wyatt wants two minutes on their shark relocation programme to show that the beaches are safe, but also that they’re taking the issue seriously.

Image by Ben Kerckx, via Pixabay In Italy, submitting a manuscript to a publisher or literary magazine is an exercise in endurance. “We will only contact you if we are interested in your work.” That is the standard line you’ll find on almost every Italian submission page. It could sound efficient, but for an aspiring writer, it’s a curse. It forces you into a purgatory of waiting and holding onto fragile hope for months.

We all have a song we sing to ourselves. I’m a good person. I have it together. My kids know I love them. People look up to me. We curate that song. We choose what goes in it and — like any good musician — what to leave out. There is a quote, attributed to a host of people, from Miles Davis to Mozart. “It’s not the notes you play, it’s the notes you don’t play.” It is about restraint. The graceful silence. The unplayed notes that make the song better. Miles Davis was a master at this.

THE WOOD WALLS IN YOUR HOUSE ADD A FIFTH DIMENSION LIFE OF TREES STILL SOMEWHAT THERE BRICK HOUSES ARE LIKE THE EARTH THE SPIRITS IF YOU STARE TOO MUCH AT THE FLOWERY WALLPAPER YOU ADD A SIXTH DIMENSION WHEN DESIGHN COLOR AND THE LIGHT IN YOUR ROOM OVERSHADOWS AFFECTS THE GEOMETRIC STRUCTURES OF YOUR THOUGHTS AND DREAMS INBETWEEN WATCHING T.V.AND LISTENING TOITHE RADIO THERE ARE SPIRITS LOOKING THROUGH YOUR WINDOWS LIVING OR DEAD

PAST PRESENT AND FUTURE SEEM TO BE WHOLE AND EXACT THERE ARE HOLES I N IT LIKE PANCAKE BUBBLES CLOUDS RIVERS SO ONLY SOMETIMES WHOLE AND EXACT YOU CAN THINK OF SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED IN DOWN A RIVER THE PRESENT THE HOT DESERT SUN OR FREEZING WINTER THESE SEEM WHOLE