instagram pinterest linkedin facebook twitter goodreads

Keeping Track

A room of one’s own.

It was spoiled of me. Self-indulgent. I thought I should be able to write anywhere and at anytime and I would not trick myself with stupid rituals and all the other trappings of « being creative. » Also the Bukowski poem, space and light, echoed in my head.

But Bukowski was a white man with few responsibilities, not a mother.  Read More 

1 Comments
Post a comment