me writing my writing: I am a ball of untalented angst… everybody has felt this emotion before….. nothing I create is unique and the world doesn’t need my voice…
me reading my writing 10 min-18 months later: genius alert 😎 where’s my pulitzer? oh and did I invent a whole new way of capturing the human existence? yes!
This was a Column Named Colin (my substack) about dinner parties I had in college. I thought it was quite lovely. I wrote a little piano piece that duets along with the words.
always feels so wildly vulnerable, but i’m so grateful for the straightforward invitation to self promote :^) mine is largely essays/poems about grief, aging, and mundanity.
if you check it out, i hope you like it! ♥️