A storm felled the ancient tree behind my house, revealing it was hollow inside. As I climbed its trunk, I wondered: How many of us stand tall while rotting at the base? At least I can still count my rings.
Author: Laura Joy Palma
I Used to Be
Thirty-two and sitting on my Virginia porch with red wine and a laptop, I hadn't written in two years. Not since Nashville. Not since the divorce. Tonight, the first writing tingle returned—would it be enough to reclaim what I used to be?
Writer's Growth 