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Day after day, I pour energy into telling stories that aren’t mine, often with words that aren’t quite mine either. My stories take form through interviews and quotes. Often I’m writing about the world around me through someone else’s lens. It’s easy to lose myself when part of being a journalist is keeping my voice out of a story while finding a unique way to tell it.
If you are an aspiring writer, one of the first pieces of advice you will hear from other writers and industry folk is read, read, and read some more… The advice makes sense. Of course, if you want to write you have to read. Only an idiot would argue the opposite. But, for me, the wisdom behind it remained a mystery for a long time.
Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan are the best-selling authors of royal romance The Royal We, and the young adult novels Spoiled and Messy. They are the editors-in-chief and co-founders of the long-running, popular celebrity-fashion website Go Fug Yourself. They both reside in Los Angeles.
It creeps up your spine until it rests comfortably like a weight on your hands and a fog on your mind. Writer’s block can lock the most talented writer in a tailspin of self-doubt, frustration and anxiety, so I shouldn’t have been so surprised to know that I wasn’t immune to the experience, either.
We’re back with another writer profile! Today, we are hanging out with Blythe Roberson. Blythe is a writer and comedian whose work has been published by The New Yorker, New York Magazine, The Onion, ClickHole, VICE Magazine, and others. She is the author of How to Date Men When You Hate Men (which Ashton read and loved).
As lovers of books and lover of book recommendations, we decided (again) to offer you seasonal book recs.
It took ten years of writing short stories and uncompleted novels to realise that my female characters were flawless. I made them beautiful because I felt I wasn’t.
So many people want to write a book but they want the finished product, not the process of writing. Fall in love with the process and you’ll never look back.
When we attend college, we pick careers, but for some of us these professional pathways aren’t so black and white.
April is National Poetry Month and we asked our instagram followers to submit their own poems! Here are our favorites so far.
On a private rooftop at 86th and Columbus with a gorgeous view of Manhattan, a long table was set with pink plates, fresh flowers, cloth napkins, and wine glasses that would be refilled so many times we’d lose count.
I wish I’d said something, but I didn’t. I was just the thick girl who had never, in her life, had someone say they were jealous of her body. The whole situation was like I set it up for myself, but I said nothing.
I’ve woken up early on a Sunday morning to write. Without trying, this has become a bit of a routine. I go to church in the evenings and keep my mornings deliciously free, quiet and slow like dew. This is where I recenter myself, among coffee and instrumental music and empty space. Sometimes the most beloved, necessary routines develop when we’re not looking.
May is mental health awareness month, and I have both everything and nothing to say about it.
“You are a great writer, Ashton. Better than most students I’ve had,” Mrs. Reichley said, her tone serious and intentional, holding one of my papers in her hand as she looked at me from across the desk.
The Apollo is iconic. Chandeliers and theater boxes make sweeping declarations of one hundred years ago. But there’s an intangible quality simmering beneath the elegant trimmings. There is soul here. The Apollo Theater is in Harlem, and the spirit of Harlem lives in the Apollo. Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin, and Alicia Keys presided, invisible but palpable, taking up the space they deserve. We sat on the front row of the first mezzanine, the best seats in the house, putting our feet up on the rails.
That’s the thing here–you only take up as much space as you need and no more.
That house has been my home for all of my 24.5 years on this earth. It’s where I have experienced some of my deepest hurts and greatest joys. It holds my story, and as I made my way thru the playroom and the rest of the tasks on my dad’s list, that truth became evident. Rather than going thru everything, every picture and elementary school art project and book, I want to talk about the highlights, the real nostalgic treasures.
I’ve been stunned by the power of persistent prayer--the unseen mystery of talking to God, of asking for the desires of your heart but holding them with an open hand, of receiving gifts that are beyond your wildest dreams and realizing they are yours, not because you deserve it, but because you simply asked.
For the last few years I’ve been making a conscious effort to increase my personal awareness of race in America. I’ve written about it a few times, but this is a conversation that needs to continue. And it’s Black History Month, so I’m going to talk about it again.