“Roe”

watch me fawn for predators

the moment my legs lurch from the womb

as performance and preservation blur

bowing until my nose touches the floor

they say

I should be grateful for the attention

once an undomesticated kid, now a dutiful doe

memorizing how to play dead

Oh, yes, I am grateful indeed

the inciting incident came after

hunters measured me for their mantlepiece

critiquing the difference between bandsaws and hacksaws

deliberations neglected as they sensed movement

they say

I knew what I was doing on that backroad

where headlights and stage lights look the same

just another corpse evaporating against asphalt

Oh, yes, I am grateful indeed

“I See Her”

I once saw her through the eyes of a child

settling unstable sandcastles with impenetrable forts

squawking frogs prolonging summers

in effervescence

I once saw her through the eyes of a girl

our phantoms handcuffed to empty lunch tables

spending the car rides home singing

in mutual grief

I once saw her through the eyes of a teenager

binding our diaries with stitches

fragile hearts we feverishly encased

in trepidation

I once saw her through the eyes of a young adult

whose naivety was as potent as hope

scraping by on artificial compassion

in desperation

I now see her through the eyes of a woman

with resilience as decadent as raspberry sorbet

as we crawl towards ambrosia

we can only unearth

within ourselves

Collaborative Noodling

There’s nothing like sharing the page.

---

If there’s any advice I can give writers in this modern age, it is this: Cut the AI bullshit out of your editing. The best way you can improve as a writer—and improve your story—is through collaboration. Several of my professors told me that this is essential. And, what do you know, they were right.

I have a few friends that I found inside my writing community who send me their work as I send them mine. We go back and forth, both editing each other’s work and making suggestions for improvement. I’ve even written fanfiction with a friend, giggling in between paragraphs and enjoying the divvying up of sections. Not only was it a moment of collaboration, but it was also fun. 

Collaboration is about talking to each other and pointing out where our strengths are and where things need some more, you guessed it, noodling. Noodling can come in a variety of methods, my favorite being duo-editing. Google Docs have evolved over the years, making it easier to edit a document with other people while talking it through in the chat feature. I have done this with fellow writers and found that it is exciting as well as challenging.

When you’re there together noodling a paragraph that feels off, one person’s suggestion can generate a new style of editing. I was helping one of my friends with a story she was working on and she watched as I rearranged her sentences to create a better flow. She told me that seeing the process of how words and sentences swap to provide clarity helped her with future writing. It gave her the awareness of different ways to approach structuring sentences and find an improved rhythm.

This form of noodling comes with lots of edits and critiques. And you must be open to criticism. If a fellow writer is telling you that you need to do better with describing a rubber duck, you have to be able to accept that this is a moment to improve rather than give up.

I’ve learned from being around creatives that sometimes giving someone constructive criticism is the equivalent to murdering their beloved childhood pet that had recently been reincarnated. They can’t stand it. It’s a personal attack on their character. And that’s where they tend to go wrong. 

If you’re in a constant state of anxiety and insecurity because you’re not sure if your work is “good”, maybe rethink what a first, second, or third draft is to you. 

This comes with practice. Start by sending your work to your trusted relatives or friends and then expand to someone who is more critical. From there, you can start to release your grip on keeping unnecessary details while also knowing when to stand firm in what you know you must keep. It’s still your story, after all.

All of this is to say I highly recommend collaboration. It’s a way to not only have meaningful conversations about writing, but to also inspire each other to reach new breakthroughs in your work, one noodle at a time.

Switching Up the Recipe

Writing can be like cooking—you’re going to have to improvise some of those instructions.

---

When I think about writing, I picture a can of Chef Boyardee’s ABC’s & 123’s, an amalgamation of red and orange slop. I’m left to decode and rearrange with filthy fingers. Some days I create an unexpectedly delicious meal worthy of admiration. Others, I’m rubbing sauce all over a crisp white shirt and telling the mess to go fuck itself. 

Different authors give different writers different advice. You can scour any book on writing and still find that their methods don’t work for you. It can feel daunting, knowing that Stephen King is writing one way while Brandon Sanderson is writing another. Emily Dickinson wrote in a much different way than Mary Shelley who wrote differently than Octavia Butler, Rebecca Yarros, Casey McQuiston, and so forth. I could name dozens more and the point would still stand that, though these are incredible writers, it doesn’t mean that their methods work for you.

For me, I built my own methods over time. And, as I grow in my craft, I find better ones. My methods for writing vary based on what medium I’m using to write with, what genre I’m writing for, and the headspace I’m in at the time. 

Something that has helped me immensely is switching up the format. If I’m working on a chapter of my novel, chances are I have a copy in Bibisco, a Google Doc, and a Word document. If I’m feeling frisky, I will put it in a Tumblr draft. Each of these holds its own purpose for me. I usually format my writing in the standard 12pt font while using Baskerville. If I’m feeling stuck, one of the most helpful tools I’ve utilized is changing the font.

I know. That sounds absurd and way too simple. However, it has been a game changer for me. Sometimes I’ll even change the color of my pen or the document, just to stimulate my brain and catch errors more easily. Even turning on (or off) “dark mode” can significantly help. And, if in dire straights, I’ll increase the font to 14pt. I know. It’s the most chilling decision I could ever make. But, like the brave idiot I am, I do it.

I tend to oscillate between the fonts Baskerville, Alice, Spectral, and Times New Roman. Though they are basic in terms of visuals, it doesn’t mean that they can’t change how you see your work. Try any font you want, even silly ones. See what you find yourself adapting to. I do this a lot with every medium I choose to write in.

Despite my moans and groans and eventual crying spells over exhausted metaphors, I continue to try and write poetry. If I just give up on everything I’ve started, then what’s the point? A solution I’ve found is changing perspective on what it is I’m writing. A way to do that is just playing around with format. 

Like with my novel or journal posts, I will switch the font. Unlike those projects, I fumble around with where the poem itself is aligned on the page. If it’s left-aligned, I will center it. If it’s centered, I will left-align. Hell, for kicks I’ll take it to the right. Alongside these small changes, I will focus on how long each line is. Either I’ll extend these lines or cut them off and make them into two. If each stanza is three lines, I will extend it to four. If it’s four, I’ll cut it down to three. I will repeat this process until the pieces connect and the landscape expands.

Like I said, writing is a messy process that is as rewarding as it is draining. There aren’t enough words in the Thesaurus to give your sentence or phrase its proper emotion. There aren’t enough books on writing to keep you on a realistic schedule that works for you.  

Nothing Jason Reynolds says is going to stop me from grinding away on my large whiteboard at two in the morning, rearranging a paragraph I’m struggling with until I doze off. Pablo Neruda himself couldn’t save me from abandoning a poem for two months simply due to doubt and self-loathing.

However, I still encourage both of us to keep going. Us writers wallow in our dramatic tragedy, plagued by the need to extract our obsessive thoughts and get them onto a physical or digital page. The only way to squash these qualms and improve is to keep going. And we will, one boiling pot of pasta sauce at a time.

An Introduction

Wondering why I’m here? Me, too.

---

Emerging into the endless congestion of traffic, the swarm of Downtown Atlanta awaits me. Each time I drive through these hellscape lanes, I can’t help but smile. Perhaps let out a tiny chuckle as I beat into the ground the famous line of The B-52’s “Love Shack”: 

“I’m heading down the Atlanta highway.”

I’ve done this for the last year, no matter the time of day. Whether it be a race to a bar or a two in the morning return to my small apartment, I always give myself a moment of reflection and appreciation for the life I’ve begun to cultivate. Despite the state of this country or the uncertainty of my future, I can reassure myself that everything is okay. Even for a few moments. 

In the last few years of my short-lived life, I have come to the conclusion that I am not extraordinary. My existence is nothing new or exciting. The most recent example came in the thick opaque cloud of a smoke machine at The Basement, an underground club in East Atlanta. I was approached by a friend who’d been searching for me, yelling into my ear, “Everybody in here looks just like you.”

There’s never been a better way to gain a neutral perspective of myself. 

We spend our time curating our identities, carefully crafting the image we want to imitate when we look in the mirror. For me, it’s usually a smattering of black eyeliner and crimson lipstick, goading myself into believing I’m a vampire. When I started going outside, I learned very quickly that there are girls with the same “aesthetic” in every club, bar, and coffee shop in Atlanta. 

Why am I saying all of this? Isn’t this supposed to be a blog about local businesses?

The answer is yes. And no.

When I moved to Atlanta in December of 2023, I had no expectations for what my life was going to look like. There were no guidelines I was to abide by. To put it simply, I was given the chance to break free of the mundanity that trapped me in Memphis and Chattanooga. Now, here I am, in the second year of Adventure: practically unemployed, directionless, and striving to continue to write no matter what happens. 

I am an outsider, much like a good percentage of those living here. Each city that makes up this area is only known to me in passing glimpses and short-lived memories. For now, I find myself capturing what begets inspiration and the discoveries that come about once it’s put onto the page.

This journal is a love letter to my curiosity for writing, influential discovery, and a city whose many faces drew me here.