My Cardboard Balcony

A Note To My Latest Panic Attack by Belinda Roddie A note to my latest panic attack that was meant to be brief, but if brevity is the soul of wit, then I sold every piece of it to the Devil for deep breathing exercises and cognitive behavioral therapy: Dear P.A. (can I call you P.A. for short? I'm calling you P.A. for short) - Damn, dude, where did you come from? You think you could give me a little more notice next time, maybe alert me during an open hour so I can pencil you in? Or is the scratch and sniff of graphite more triggers for you? Or does the mere thought of a text reminder set your teeth on edge, make the hairs on your arms stand up ready for orders, twists your spine into a Tesla coil, sending alternating currents of dread and irrational sadness signals through every taut and trembling nerve? I didn't think you'd show up here: Uninvited, as usual, sitting cross-legged on my chest, unable or unwilling to take a seat beside me and squ...

Purgatory by Belinda Roddie Why is it that, when I try to own up to mistakes, all that I seem to ever do is overcompensate? I am dredged in the wet flour of my sins, but still, how sinful are they when the devil hasn't even declared that they pass the literal smell test? When he sniffs, his nostrils flare like those of a hormonal bull. Disheartened am I, yet resolute I remain. I wear the pain of my own neuroses on my shoulders like a brand new coat. I celebrate my breakdowns as if they were freshly declared holidays, and I, above everyone, am aware of my own sense of carnal strength. I wrote a novel the other day that was shorter than Death: does that still make it a novel? How long do sagas have to last before they're considered sagas, and I can take up the spare throne alongside Beowulf and Gilgamesh - this ruddy handsome Middle Eastern and Anglo-Saxon behemoths holding the torch to an unfamiliar heaven, who have slain dragons but accepted mortality lik...

Hi, everyone. In lieu of Storytellers this month, I participated once again in National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo. My personal goal was to write at least 60,000 words by the end of November. For those of you who don't know,  [Insert Self-Discovery Here],  my recently published debut novel,   was a product of my work for NaNoWriMo 2012. I was hoping to see equally fruitful results this year - and sure enough, I was successful. As of November 30th: - I wrote over 60,000 words, as per my personal goal. And the best part is: I don't think the novel's even halfway done. - I came up with a working title: Just A Little HEA. It may or may not change. - I got a better idea of the structure and beats of my novel. The middle and end are taking shape, and they're looking good. - I now have to catch up on all the grading I procrastinated on thanks to NaNoWriMo. Short stories and Hamlet argumentative essays, here I come! Thanks for coming along for the ride, y'...