‘I remember the ocean was as flat as the ship’s deck when the masters appeared. I saw their flag, but at the time I didn’t know what it meant. You know the one, white and red. We were all so scared. I understood later it was the Cross of the Order of Christ, the Empire’s divine right to the spice trade. We were coming from India when they sunk the ship, but not before putting me and a few others in crates.’ A sigh. ‘My sarcophagus. I was reborn inside it.’
With my poetry collection… I’d send it to places and they’d say it wasn’t quite right but then they would give some really nice feedback… and that’s what kept me going, because they actually took the time to tell me that so that probably is a good sign.
The sea strips / the sand into strata, / shifts the timeline /on the tides. / The village / was Saxon, was Viking / was Roman. /Was here, then gone.
I don’t have a writing routine for my writing now, it mostly happens in little bursts in between finishing something for my postdoc or maybe on the weekend, in the evenings… caitlin stobie Some authors […]
For those who can afford it, there’s a whole new market of fancy devices that connect to your phone or smart watch and register your breathing patterns, send you alarms, remind you to refill your oxygen tank, locate the nearest Oxygen Station, alert your emergency contacts if you collapse; they got you covered. Martha knows them very well. She was moved to the smart respirator department six months ago and has been selling them ever since.
The young Nakadai studies Neo-Linguistics at the University of Twickley, serves in the Japanese army, becomes a Benedictine monk, then receives the chair of Professor of Neo-Linguistics at Twickley where, despite his relectuance, he is heralded as the greatest philosophical mind of the age.
Caitlin Stobie chose to develop her writing career in different fields, including poetry and academia. In this episode she shares what she’s learned from working with editors and publications in both areas.
‘The bruise, I saw it on his arm. Summer morning at my old house. The day Grandad came to help Mama with packing all our stuff. Gabriel and I were on the street, playing tag, and he fell over. I helped him up and he tried to get away like crazy, but I saw it. It was big and purple. No bruise would go purple in three seconds. He pulled his sleeves down as much as possible and it became his ritual from then on. ‘
‘After almost a month passed and we had not heard from you, my father asked your mother if he should approach his friends in the police department and look for you. but your mother refused. ‘I know my daughter. she will not come back unless she wants to. she doesn’t want to, yet.’
I sat on the raw wood bench outside the hut. The sun had yet to show from behind the rugged peaks, and the whole big mass of Mount Cevedale towered over me. Jagged peaks and […]
THE WANDERING BARD 