Rough-Writer
Imperfect stories, scraps, and word doodles written by an imperfect human.
With occasional art by my very talented friends.
Art by: Lesya Blackbird
I’m a writer. I am many other things, but here, in this space, a writer is what I am most. I’m going to try to make this little corner of the internet cozy for us. So step inside…
Here you’ll find a window seat with a few throw pillows, a couple soft blankets, the sun is in the perfect position so that everything is gilded in warm tones. There’s a place for your beverage of choice here, and silver-gold dust motes dance through the air as you pass.
When you near the alcove, you find a book waiting for you. It is well loved, its green leather edges smooth where they’ve been absently rubbed by countless fingers. Stamped in silver on its cover, its title still shines clearly- probably because of how often the letters must rearrange themselves to suit the reader. You fall into the cushions and take up the book…
This is our place. A place I’ve made so that I can share my art with you. I want for you to daydream, or night dream, if that’s your gig. I want to help you escape, to experience something different, to make you imagine yourself somewhere better. Somewhere other, stranger, more ethereal. Sometimes I might want to take you somewhere gritty and dark, somewhere grim and empty.
No matter what, my hope is to make you feel something.
The Book falls open…
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Silver light draws you into the reading room today. It’s been a while, and though nothing looks different, there’s a shift. Something in the atmosphere has gone…green. It’s crisp and… Read more ⇢
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Today the air is stale in the nook. The pillows are askew and there’s a collection of coffee mugs on the side table. It isn’t very inviting, unfortunately your host… Read more ⇢
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The reading room is dim tonight. And warm, even though, or maybe because, the narrow sides of the bay window are open. Somewhere, far away you hear music, something rowdy… Read more ⇢
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It’s the middle of the night in the reading room, the lights of a city smear neon lines across the window. Pillows are arranged in a neat line around the… Read more ⇢
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Today the reading room is filled with warm sunshine. The bay window is cracked open and the smell of summertime grass fills the air. The view is comforting, vast. A… Read more ⇢
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The reading room is quiet. Maybe it’s holding its breath. Maybe trying to remember what it’s forgotten…as always, the book is here, it’s green leather seems faded today, or maybe… Read more ⇢
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The reading room is hazy as you step inside today. The burnt orange carpet under your feet is thick. The pillows and blankets on the nook are velvet, in olive,… Read more ⇢
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The air is crisp as you slip into the reading room, it smells of oakmoss and dew-damp leaf litter. Hazy moonlight pours in through the window giving the nook a… Read more ⇢
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Today the light is different, as you enter the reading room. The nook is dim, candles in elaborate candle holders, the kind with three arms and beautiful but understated lines,… Read more ⇢
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You hover in the threshold of our little room today. It’s bright, the sun streaming in, the colors vibrant, everything looks fine. But it doesn’t feel fine. You step inside,… Read more ⇢
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Rough-Writer 